


Texts From Gotham

by DustToDust



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 29,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles inspired by the Texts From Last Night website.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My ex-fiancee UPS-ed me a sixer of tall boys, and a fifth of bourbon for christmas, from halfway across the country. What does this mean?

**Author's Note:**

> All texts taken as is and unaltered from the TFLN database. Drabbles may or may not be loosely connected. Just assume they're not as pairings and what not will change to reflect the specific texts used as inspiration.

(773): My ex-fiancee UPS-ed me a sixer of tall boys, and a fifth of bourbon for christmas, from halfway across the country. What does this mean? 

~

Tim looks in the box again but still fails to find a note or anything even vaguely note like. Just the alcohol, the packaging, and the packing slip with Tam's neat hand done in blue ink. He didn't even know Tam was in Illinois. He doesn't know _why_ she's there.

He flips his phone and thinks about calling her up to ask her, but is honestly too afraid he'll get that judging silence that means she's mentally calling him all different kinds of an idiot. An inattentive idiot, because she probably did tell him she was going out of state and why she was doing it. Tim's well aware that his mind is primed to catch a very specific type of relevant information even when he's not really listening to what's being said, and that vacation plans are not very relevant to that filter.

His phone chimes. Several more times than it should, and Tim unlocks it to see that Dick's --as usual-- shared the conversation. Tim groans as Jason and Steph send him almost identical texts right on top of each other. Something about removing sticks that he deletes without looking too closely at them. He opens up a mass text and starts typing his standard 'hate you all' response. He gets halfway through it before having to add names to the text because Dick's 'accidentally' texted Roy and Gar. Again.

By the time it's done there's a large enough list that it takes a full minute to go through. Tim still doesn't know why Tam's sending him alcohol, but he appreciates it and has no intention of sharing it with Dick like he thought he would when he first sent the text.


	2. Who suggested the eggnog wet t-shirt contest last night like whose idea was that

(734): Who suggested the eggnog wet t-shirt contest last night like whose idea was that

(517): Speaking 

~

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean dried eggnog out of carpet?" Tim's not yelling, but he's got that little hitch at the end of his sentence that means the wrong words can change that really fast.

"Uh," Kon rolls over on his bed and scratches the back of his neck as he looks at the clock he's been trying to ignore. It's only 11 AM which isn't too early to be up but is definitely too early to be cleaning up after the party from last night. "I'm gonna guess and say it's very hard?"

"'Very hard' is what Gar's going through now trying to get eggnog out of his chest hair," Tim says and his voice is lower which means Kon chose the right words to say. A victory, because Kon's really good at getting Tim to yell without meaning to. "The carpet is a whole other level difficulty. As in, get out of bed and come down here now. We're ripping it out before this stuff can start to spoil and stink up the Tower."

"Dude," Kon starts to complain then thinks better of it. Not fast enough to say he's on his way though.

"Or," Tim's voice drops doing that half growl thing it does when he's getting ready to shake someone down for information. "I could come up to your room with the left over eggnog and show you what the problem is."

"Fine, just let me get dressed," Kon groans and rolls out of bed. Looking around for the jeans he's sure he dropped near the bed. "You don't need to threaten me."

Tim hangs up and Kon pulls on the only slightly wrinkled jeans. He pockets his phone and gets up. Wrinkling his nose as he steps on something slightly wet. His shirt from last night wadded up in a still wet ball. He picks it up and gags at the sickly sweet smell that's starting to come off it before holding it out and away from himself. 

Yeah, alright, fine. He's willing to admit it might not have been the smartest idea in the long run, but he's still going to maintain that it was an _awesome_ plan when Starfire decided she didn't want to waste any of the drink afterwards.


	3. Can we make 2014 the year of no unsolicited dick pics?

(804): Can we make 2014 the year of no unsolicited dick pics? 

~

Tim stares in horror at the text. It's time stamped as sent sometime after one in the morning which is well after when Steph cracked open that second bottle of vodka. It doesn't really matter _when_ Tim sent the text though. It's been sent and there is nothing he can do now to erase it. No way to wipe it from the phones of everyone he sent it to, because drunk Tim is a mess who either can't hit send or can only hit it after adding every single person in his contact list.

"Give me your phone," Steph says eventually after she's done laughing, because they're both well aware of the fact that Tim's only friends with assholes. "We'll switch for the day."

Tim doesn't trust the gleam in her eyes one bit, but he trusts the people he sent that text to even less. The only reason Tim hadn't woken up to a text bomb of dick pics has more to do with the fact that most of them are probably still asleep than any restraint on their part.

"How about longer?" Tim hands the phone over with only a little misgiving and accepts the pink polka dotted thing Steph uses to mess with people's heads. Just in time as Tim's phone chimes with a text the second Steph has it.

Steph's fingers fly over the screen and she holds the phone up expectantly. Her mouth turning up into a _leer_ as she stares. "Ooo! Superboy manscapes, _nice_."

"Yeah, let's say a week," Tim shudders and very firmly shies away from thinking about anything Steph's saying as the pics start coming in.

"Roy Harper is Arsenal, right?" Steph asks as Tim gets up to stagger his way into the bathroom to shower off the scent of vodka. She's settled in on the couch and her thumbs are working the screen in a way that's not just her opening texts as they come in. "I'm sending that to Cass. She likes piercings."

Tim lurches faster as Steph suddenly starts laughing again, "Oh, god, Damian's demanding to know what a dick pic is!"

He makes it into the bathroom but doesn't manage to shut the door fast enough to block out her saying, "Never mind! Jason's volunteering to explain it all to him."

Tim wonders, as he steps into the shower, if it'd be possible for him to live without a cell phone. Logistics aside, he's sad to realize he really can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More? Look in the comments! Tis lovely.


	4. That makes 14 Xmas cards already! Middle aged people are really nice to their dealers.

(506): That makes 14 Xmas cards already! Middle aged people are really nice to their dealers. 

~

"I mean," Jason turns the card over to look at the posed family picture again, "what the fuck else do they do? Invite him over for dinner? Name a kid after him?"

"Welcome to suburbia," Tim says from where he's tossing an honest to fuck file cabinet. "Where buying off the shady stranger on the corner will get you arrested in five seconds flat, but inviting the dealer over for poker won't get a second look."

Jason goes back to ripping the man's mail open. Looking for anything that might give them a clue where the guy's gone to ground, and finding nothing except more cards. He opens one envelope and gets glitter all over his hand. It's another family picture of an average white family, and these ones apparently let their six year old go at the thing with glue and glitter. "Are you fucking serious?"

"A dealer selling out of his car would get eight different nosy grandma's calling the cops on him out here," Tim straightens up and goes back tot he desk where he's jacked a program in to let Oracle mine the thing. "Kids selling out of their parent's basements last a bit longer, but eventually gossip gets them closed down or their parents get snubbed at a bake sale and do it themselves."

Jason snorts and eyes a card with the Virgin Mary on it. There's a personalized message urging the dealer to find god, and Jason wonders if it's one of the nosy grandmas that sent it or an actual family member. "It's just weird as fuck."

Tim shrugs and begins to disconnect wires from the laptop. "Just wait. If we don't find him in time there's going to be a lot of outrage over the inner city 'problem' spilling into the 'peaceful' suburbs. All of which will neatly skirt the fact that the loudest people are the ones who bought the most drugs."

Jason rolls his eyes and tosses the cards onto the floor. Disgusted at the fact that Tim's right about the hypocrisy as he is with the gold glitter still clinging to his gloves. "I got nothing."

"O might be able to give us something," Tim heads out to the back door they'd come in through, "but it'll be a while. Up to seeing how many people will call the police on us on our way back?"

"On top of the five that've already called?" Jason can hear sirens in the distance. A reassuring sound that's been absent the entire time they've been tossing the house. "Sure. I'm guessing three."

"Six," Tim says just before they're out. His grin a white flash in the night. "The first five have been calling around to gossip so more people are awake and looking out their windows."

Oracle later informs them that the number was five, and Jason swears it's only that many because Tim deliberately didn't run as fast as he could.


	5. Dude for real though, we gotta stop getting hammered and kissing gay guys.

(912): Dude for real though, we gotta stop getting hammered and kissing gay guys. 

~

"Or," Bart says, and there's a tone that he gets. Like a warning to everyone in hearing distance that what's about to come out of his mouth is a _very bad idea_. Kon is sadly, very familiar with that tone, and his recognizing it has come at the expense of years of figuring it out the hard way. "We could do it more!"

"No, Bart," Kon rubs his face as he holds back the urge to groan. Bart takes groaning as a sign that he's winning and usually redoubles his efforts. "That's the _opposite_ of what we should do. Dude, we seriously need to stop! No more kissing gay guys, alright?"

"But why?" Bart's face is unreadable, and Kon seriously misses the days when he never had to guess about what his friend was thinking. "Is there something wrong with gay guys?"

" _No_ ," Kon also misses the days when he could count on Tim being around to, if not say the right thing then to at least say something that wouldn't make Kon look like an asshole. "I'm just saying we should stop because," because if Cassie's eyebrow when he comes in from bar nights goes any higher it'll get stuck that way and he likes her face the way it normally is. But that's an asshole thing to say too and it's a new year. He's trying to be less of one. "Because it's a dick move to be cock teases like that."

Which is actually a valid point he hadn't thought of before, and kinda makes him feel assholish all over again for all the drinks he's accepted. 

"It's not teasing though," Bart says immediately and Kon catches the hint of a blush. There and gone too fast for most people to see.

Kon blinks and thinks. It's not a hard thing to do, and it doesn't hurt him like Tim seems to think it does. "Bart?" He starts out slow, feeling his way and trying to appear open and supportive or whatever. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Bart looks at with his sometimes eerie gold eyes. Like he's growing a second head and only the power of his stare is keeping it from eating Kon. Kon reaches up to pat around and make sure that's not the case.

"No Kon," Bart eventually says with a sigh that speaks entire volumes of exasperation. "Why would you ever think I'm trying to tell you something?" Bart stands up and flips one end of a pink, sparkly scarf over his shoulder that a drag queen had given him the night before. Her matching pink nails running through Bart's hair as she cooed over how much of cutie he was. "Now, come on, we've got a few minutes to get to the bar before the margaritas go half price."

"Fine," Kon lets the matter go and resolves to get Tim to bring it up later. All this waiting for Bart to come out on his own and declare he's gay or bi or whatever is getting annoying. Tim's the one who insisted they do whatever it takes to make him comfortable with it all and Kon had agreed because Tim's the smart one of them and usually knows what he's talking about even though Kon doesn't think it's necessary. 

Bart knows he's their friend. He knows they'll have his back no matter what, and that isn't going to change anytime soon. No matter who or what he might like. He's still Bart and as far as Kon's concerned nothing's changed at all, but Tim's been pretty insistent on this.

Doesn't mean Kon can't bitch about it. _Tim_ should be the one at the bar next to Bart, or on the dance floor dealing with getting his ass pinched and his arms petted. Kon just wants to sit in a corner with a beer and only get up to block any of the really seedy looking creeps from making a move on his bud.

He'll even sit with the drag queens, because they're _viciously_ funny and Kon's really starting to like them. He follows the flicker of pink and ignores the laughter he can hear from Cassie's room, and how come she's exempt from this anyway? "Let's go get drunk."


	6. If I showed up at your door with pizza and a bottle of tequila wearing nothing but chaps and a fireman helmet, would you send me away?

(803): If I showed up at your door with pizza and a bottle of tequila wearing nothing but chaps and a fireman helmet, would you send me away? 

~

There's a long silence then the sound of clicking keys before Tim cautiously asks, "Are you standing outside my door right now?"

"No," Dick's quite comfortable on his couch and isn't moving any time soon. "Later though."

"I might give you a five minute head start before calling the police," Tim says. Dry and so obviously lying. He wouldn't call the cops, but he might drop a tip off to Vicky Vale which is answer enough.

~

"After taking the tequila, yeah, I would," Jason answers, promptly and honestly. "The real question is; would you dare show up outside _my_ door in nothing but chaps and a fireman's helmet?"

Which is a damn good point actually. Dick's sure he wouldn't make it through the streets alive and trying to roof jump in that outfit kind of makes his balls want to shrivel up and hide. He grimaces, "Touche."

~

"Do you know how much money I could make for pictures of that?" Stephanie asks after laughing. "Yes, do it! I need some Christmas money."

"Christmas is over," Dick feels obliged to point out.

"And now the stores have to get rid of the stuff that didn't sell in time," Steph says and Dick can hear something scraping in the background. "So, when're you bringing me pizza and tequila? I might have to go out and get batteries for the camera before you get here."

~

There's a pregnant pause where Dick can feel Bruce thinking about how to answer. A sigh and the muttered wondering of why he even bothers that all his children are subjected to, or some flippant remark only appropriate to his Brucie charade. Dick's grinning and fighting hard not to laugh at the pained expression he just knows has to be on Bruce's face as the silence drags on longer and longer. If he can get the visual feed from this encounter Dick'll have so won.

"Richard?" Alfred's voice comes through the phone line. Crisp and clear and Dick chokes on icy panic. "You have a question for me?"

"Uh," crap. Bruce won. The cheater. "No, no. I got the answer, uh, thanks."

~

"After taking the pizza, yeah, I would," Roy says and he doesn't even sound scandalized or phased by the question. "Lian doesn't need to see her Uncle like that. She's too young. Wait until she's in college to see your ass."

"Uh, how about I wait until never?" Dick asks because he hadn't thought of Lian when he dialed.

"I wish," Roy says and Dick can hear Lian in the back ground. All excitement and the word 'Daddy' the only clear part of it. "But I'm being realistic here. She's going to get old enough to get into a Titan's party eventually."

~

There's a long, pointed silence during which Dick can _feel_ the stare Babs is giving him through the feeds she has of his apartment. "Never," she eventually says. Amused beyond all reason. "Should I call the girls and tell them to bring all their dollars?"

Because Babs would sic her Birds on him if he did that. Dick grins and stretches out even further on the couch, until he can feel his spine pop. "Just don't let Steph take any pictures."

"And share my profits of selling pictures of you on the black market?" Babs laughs and it's reassuring until he realize she's not actually joking. "Never. Make sure you get me pepperoni."


	7. Dude. Photoshop a Santa hat on your mug shot and send it as your Christmas cards.

(256): Dude. Photoshop a Santa hat on your mug shot and send it as your Christmas cards. 

~

A card is placed on the table next to him. Bruce finishes adjusting the spectrometer before turning to look at it. It's off white and is the standard size for a commercially bought card. He picks it up and notices there's no return address. "What's this?"

Alfred, hasn't moved an inch from where he stood to give it to him. He's unnaturally stiff and his lips are tight in that way they get when one of the children has done something he disapproves of. "I do believe it's supposed to be a Christmas card."

Bruce eyes it and wonders, again, why. Why did he ever decide to take Dick in? Because Dick is the start of all this madness, Bruce is sure of it. He reaches in the already open envelope and pulls out the card. 

It's completely generic. Green with a red Santa on the front and slits cut into the back of the card. Evenly placed so that a photo can be slid inside of it. A Hallmark logo graces the back but there's no barcode. So it was bought as a box of multiples.

Bruce opens the card, and ignores the printed text that says 'Ho Ho Ho' on one side. Zeroing in on the picture instead.

It's Jason. A three by four, glossy picture of Jason scowling at the camera while holding a placard stating John Doe and his prison number. A badly edited in Santa hat flops to the left, almost covering one of his eyes and some of the bruising.

Mug shots. His son is sending him a mug shot for a Christmas card. Bruce feels very old in that moment and very close to a great many suffering parents he's seen over the years. Mostly because, despite it being a _mug shot_ , he can't help but feel pleased that Jason's sending him a card.

Bruce isn't quite sure when his life spiraled into this kind of madness, but he thinks it's about the time he let Dick in through the front door.

"Put it on the mantel," Bruce finally says and hands the card to Alfred who is probably going to take a car and _hunt Jason down_ for this. "Put it next to Damian's."

Damian's is a construction paper card with designs the boy obviously didn't do himself on the front, and a scathing block of words on the inside questioning the value in such a childish activity that Bruce only _hopes_ he didn't voice out loud. Otherwise, next year is going to be very interesting when he gets called into the school. Again.

"Very well, sir," Alfred turns and walks away, and Bruce thinks about warning Jason so that he'll at least not be in the worst part of the city when Alfred does run him down. 

He thinks about it and decides not to. His son sent him a mug shot. He can stand to take the hit to his reputation that being given a tongue lashing by an old man will give him.


	8. He showed up at my front door with Plan B and a rose...

(847): He showed up at my front door with Plan B and a rose... 

~

"That," Tim blinks and stops. Tries starting again. "That is not romantic. That is the opposite of romantic. Steph. I need you to tell me the door got slammed in his face."

Stephanie is suspiciously silent and Tim closes his eyes and groans. " _Why?_ "

"Because sometimes a woman doesn't need romance," Steph says with a snort. Defensive in a way that's usually Tim's job in their friendship. "Sometimes she just wants to have good sex with a good looking guy who will magically disappear in the morning and never be seen again. I mean, the rose was a bit much, but the rest? Exactly what I was looking for."

"You do realize you made me listen to you for four hours last week going on about how you're going to die alone, right?" Tim asks. His head hurts. Which is the fault of his caseload being insane and sleep being a sweet sounding myth to him, but he's willing to overlook that because this whole conversation doesn't make any sense to him. At all. "You just told me all about how you were getting tired of one night stands!"

"I was on my _period_!" Steph says and Tim cringes, but forces himself not to make a sound. He's always _very_ careful not to show how squeamish he gets about, well, the whole menstruation cycle around women. They can sense the slightest flinch and Tim has yet to see a woman not take full advantage of a man who can't handle it. He has female teammates. He's _seen_ the vicious glee they take when flaunting their periods around freaked out guys. "I get _mopey_ on my periods. Of course I cried on your shoulder. That's only a few days out the month though. I'm really not looking for a relationship right now."

"Well, then warn me next time, and I won't. Oh I don't know? Take what you're saying seriously?" Tim says as he leans back in his chair. Listening to it squeak and the sharp crack of ice shifting in his fridge in the kitchen.

"Well, gee," Steph drawls out. Sarcasm dripping off of each word. "It's not like it's something I can plan ahead. You know? Like it's a _regular cycle_ that repeats itself at _regular intervals_ for a set amount of time."

"I'm not memorizing your cycle," Tim lets himself grimace in the safety of his own home. "I have enough problems remembering your birthday."

"No you don't," Steph laughs. "You don't remember your own birthday. Everyone else's you have no problem with," which is true. Sadly. "Just put it on your calender or something if you're going to complain. Set a reminder so you can ignore me being whiny."

"Uh, _no_ ," Tim doesn't know what he'd do without the reminder notifications he gets off his phone. It has saved him countless times in the past year alone. Something that other people have noticed and have taken advantage of. Tam for one like to program reminders for Tim to eat along with meetings he has to attend. Dick programs stupid jokes into it, timed to go off when Tim's always the busiest.

He doesn't want to think about either of them going through his phone and finding Stephanie's _period_ set as a reminder.

"Well, then, stop bitching," Steph says, and Tim makes a note to go through his phone for the next few weeks and make sure some stray reminder hasn't been put in there when he wasn't looking.

"Only if you tell me it was worth it," and mean it. Tim listens hard and is rewarded with a laugh.

"Oh, and _how_!" Steph sounds relaxed and happy. Something that has been in short supply these past few weeks, and Tim relaxes a little. "Why? You want the details?"

"Absolutely not," Tim denies. They're close. Disturbingly close for their history, but they're not _that_ close. Just knowing that they're both alright and happy is good enough for them both. Tim hangs up on Steph's laughter and gets back to his cases.


	9. I swear you won't find cereal in your washer machine again.

(505): I swear you won't find cereal in your washer machine again. 

~

"Didn't Lian like the way her clothes smelled for the rest of the week though?" Dick asks because he does vaguely recall that happening.

"That's besides the point. I'm still trying to figure out _how_ you got it in there in the first place," Roy says, which is fair. Dick doesn't really have an answer to give him other than the fact that it'd seemed like a good idea at the time.

"I think it was Gar," or Vic. Probably both of them, because they have a surprising capacity for being full of bright ideas when they're the only sober people at a party. "And, let's face it, I've done stupider things while drunk than try to fit into a washing machine."

"No, Dick, you don't understand," Roy turns and grabs his shoulder. Shaking him slightly and giving him a hard stare. Trying to impress some seriousness into a conversation that's all about their lack of dignity. "I don't know how you got that cereal in there because _we didn't have any cereal in the house_."

Huh, well that is a little more understandably strange. "Uh, maybe I-"

" _No_ ," Roy cuts him off and it's very clear to Dick that he's been thinking about this since it happened. Over six months ago. "We didn't have any cereal at all. The only things brought into the house were pizza and beer. You didn't leave the house at all. No one left the house. No one stopped by. I don't know how you got that cereal into the washer, Dick."

"Oh," Dick tries to remember, but draws a complete blank. The night is a blur and he remembers a lot about it, but the source of the cereal box he clearly remembers eating from is not one of those things. "I don't remember where I got it. That's a little creepy."

"No shit," Roy shakes his head and backs off. Seemingly able to shake the whole mystery off as well. "So, pizza and beer at my place?"

"Sure," Dick frowns at Roy's back unable to let it go as easily, and he calls himself seven different kinds of paranoid even as he plans the angle of the cameras he's putting up along with the amount of pizza they're going to need. "Sure, Roy, see you Friday."


	10. Duuuude someone spilled hot sauce all over the floor and trailing outside wtf

(337): Duuuude someone spilled hot sauce all over the floor and trailing outside wtf 

(337): OH GOD IT'S BLOOD. THIS IS ALOT OF BLOOD. 

~

The phone barely rings once before Tim picks up and demands, "Where's Rose?"

"What do you mean, where's Rose?" Kon asks and his voice does _not_ rise. At all. "You think she did this? Is she out there waiting to-"

"Get Rose," Tim orders, using his Robin voice, the one that always makes Kon shut up and _listen_ , "and put her on the phone. She's less likely to panic on me."

"Panic!?" Kon is a superhero. He does not panic. Not even when he wakes up at ass 'o clock in the morning and slips in a blood trail. "I am not panicking! Excuse me for being just a little worried that there's a _trail of blood_ going through the Tower that ends in a huge pool of even more blood!"

It's a valid point that he's making to dead air because Tim, the son of a bitch, hung up on him. Kon nearly crushes the phone out of spite, but it's his phone and he'll have to replace it if he does.

"Yes, there's a trail," he hears Rose say from inside, and Kon turns to go back in. He meets her in the hall leading from the entertainment room. She looks tired as she follows the trail, phone pressed to her ear and stifling a yawn. Like a huge blood trail is nothing.

It probably isn't. To her or Tim, but they're both scary freaks and should know to adjust their expectations down for normal people. She gives him a look as she passes him. Humming to something Tim's saying about the freshness of it all. "No, it's still tacky," she says as she drags her big toe through some spots. "It's strange. There's no smell at all."

"Smell?" Kon trails after her listening to Tim hum thoughtfully on the other end of the line, and gets ignored as she goes out the door.

"Well, it's not a person," she says as she circles the end of the trail. A puddle of blood that kind of ripples under the breeze. "I'd say there's enough blood here for two people if you drained them of every last drop."

"Oh," Kon feels a little sick, but he can clearly hear the heartbeat and breathing of everyone in the Tower. No one is missing. No one is hurt.

Rose stops and leans over to look into the puddle. Tilting her head like she's looking into a mirror and starting to look interested in this as Tim starts throwing guesses out. "Four would be my bet," she agrees, "I still don't smell anything from it though. It looks like blood, and feels like blood but, hm."

A calculating look crosses her face and she kneels down. Touching a finger to the pool and bringing it up to-

"No!" Kon spins around and heads back into the Tower. Calling over his shoulder, "That's _sick_!"

He can't stop himself from hearing when she informs Tim, "It tastes sweet. Kind of like sugar."

"No, no, nope!" Kon heads back to his room. Ignoring the trail and continued conversation as best he can. Today is not a day he'll be part of. He's going back to bed and sleeping through the rest of it.


	11. Hey I was just wondering if you could go look for my teeth?

(440): Hey I was just wondering if you could go look for my teeth? 

~

Dick contemplates the text for a good half hour before calling. "I need to know if I'm supposed to actually be looking for _your_ teeth, or just teeth that you've _claimed_ as yours."

Jason yawns right into the phone, and if he was trying to sleep he shouldn't have texted Dick in the first place. "Teeth that I'm going to be claiming as mine as soon as I find a reason for it."

"Ah," it's one of the many interpretations he'd thought of before calling. Reassuringly it's the third one he thought of. "So, any particular teeth I should be on the look out for?"

"Molars," Jason grunts. "Back right or left, I don't really care which side. They're going to show up at the Kicks bar tonight sometime around tenish."

"I can do that," Dick agrees easily and doesn't ask for more information. They're probably drug runners and it'll be easy to sort them out in the bar. "So, what're you going to be doing that's keeping you from doing it yourself?"

"I'll be miles away burning their storehouse to the ground while they're celebrating," Jason sounds happy and pleased with the thought, and Dick knows he's going to take his time to do a proper job of burning it. He might even take the time to laugh manically.

"Gotcha," Dick grins fondly into the air. "See you tonight little wing."


	12. I just woke up to three voicemails from you. In the first one you just straight laughed for 3 minutes. In the second you did bird calls. In the third you were hysterically crying. Have fun last night?

(973): I just woke up to three voicemails from you. In the first one you just straight laughed for 3 minutes. In the second you did bird calls. In the third you were hysterically crying. Have fun last night? 

~

"Yes," Dick, eventually, says and it's more a question than an actual statement.

"You don't even remember, do you?" Tim asks even though the answer is really obvious to him from the way Dick hasn't moved one muscle from his position on the couch. Face firmly planted in the cushions, one arm hanging off the couch, and his legs curled up in a way that looks uncomfortable from the angle of his back.

"I remember there was a last night," Dick eventually manages to say. Voice muffled and labored because he can't really be breathing right in the position he's in. "That's better than I usually manage."

Tim's really not looking forward to the days when his team will see drinking as something that's a socially acceptable thing to do. Right now they're all still underage and see drinking as a form of rebellion to be done in secret. It's only a few more years until that's no longer the case though, and he's still woefully behind on building up a tolerance that will stand up to drinking games.

Though Dick's been at it for years now and doesn't seem to have one either.

Tim sets the bucket that Dick bought specifically for mornings like this next to the couch. Dick had been optimistic when he set it next to his bed before going out. Tim slots a few bottles of water between his back and the couch, and plops a wet towel on the back of Dick's head. "I have to be at work five minutes ago. Call Damian if you need anything else. I'm sure he'll only mock you a little for it."

Dick makes a noise that Tim takes as agreement and doesn't move. Politely waiting for Tim to leave before upsetting the careful balance he has going with his body that's keeping him from puking everything up. It'll only take one twitch to have Dick on his knees over the bucket. Tim's been in that position before, unfortunately, and understands it all to well.

Tim sighs and pats the couch because jostling Dick right now is not a good idea, "Come by the office when you can."

Dick makes another vague noise and Tim leaves him to enjoy his hangover in peace.


	13. Ive never seen him vulnerable before. He just had surgery and looked so cute on his crutches. like a little baby bird with a broken wing. that i wanted to nurse back to health. with my vagina

(225): Ive never seen him vulnerable before. He just had surgery and looked so cute on his crutches. like a little baby bird with a broken wing. that i wanted to nurse back to health. with my vagina 

~

"And what prompted you to _share_ this with me?" Tim feels compelled to ask after a totally appropriate horrified silence.

"It's just a warning little Red," Babs says and she's going to start laughing the second she hangs up. If not sooner. "Beware the nice people who hold the doors open for you to hobble your way in to work."

"She's three times my age!" Tim doesn't wail. He _doesn't_. "I know that's shallow, but she reminds me of someone's grandma! I thought she went home and baked pies for the neighborhood or something. Not."

Gossip with a slew of other women about what exactly they'd like to do to him if they ever got him tied to a bed. Tim's having Misery inspired flashes now. He's not looking forward to morning when he's going to have to look Margaret in the face and smile when she fusses over him.

Babs tsks softly, "You're a media darling, Tim, you're going to have to get used to this eventually. It only gets worse from here on out."

Which is so true it's not really funny. He's going to be envying Jason's status as being dead by the end of the year. Especially if Babs keeps sending him things like this. "Yeah, but can you _not_ send me people's private texts? A little ignorance never hurt anyone."

"Oh, Tim," and Babs sounds _fond_. The kind of fond that he's grown to associate with teasing and hair ruffling over the years. "Do me a favor and skip reading tomorrow's news paper alright?"

"Why?" Tim asks slowly even though he knows, _knows_ , he's going to regret it.

"Private texts aren't private when you send them to news outlets asking for opinions on certain public figures," Babs says and in that instant Tim knows that she's been holding back. That she's got a whole lot more saved up and was showing restraint when she sent only one.

She lets him sit there and whimper for a good two minutes before firmly saying, "No, you can't curl up and hide from the world. Just skip the paper in the morning and stammer adorably for the cameras when someone asks about it. You'll be fine."

Jason has _no idea_ how lucky he is.


	14. In my next life I better get to be a bird. Fuck flying. I'm gonna shit on your car. Every. Day.

(720): In my next life I better get to be a bird. Fuck flying. I'm gonna shit on your car. Every. Day. 

~

Dick's laughing. No, he's _howling_. He's bent over, clutching his stomach and nearly crying from it. He's getting to the point where breathing is becoming difficult, and is minutes away from it being painful.

Tim's eyes are narrowed to furious slits, and the glare would be solely on Dick if he weren't so obviously offended and giving his phone his full attention. "If you so much as lay one flea bitten, feather on my car...."

Jason's snort tests the limits of the speaker phone, distorting a bit before he says, "And you'd better get used to having an umbrella, fucker. Cause your perfect little princess do will be next. Every. Single. Day."

Tim looks more upset by the debatable threat to his car than his hair. Which Dick knows is a close competition, but his car will always win. Always. "I would shoot you down and roast your feathered butt, Jason. Don't even think about touching my car in _any_ life."

"Oh? Why, what're you going to do, baby bird?" Jason taunts and Dick can picture the exact degree of smirk he's wearing just from his voice. "Not like you've done anything about it before."

"Before. Did you," Tim starts then stops. Something like horrified realization flashing across his face. "Did you shit on my car before? Was that, was that you!?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jason says in a tone of voice that screams he knows everything Tim's talking about. 

Tim's face goes pale then turns red and he hunches over the phone and hisses, "Jason, you son of a bitch-"

Dick slowly sinks to his knees. Still clutching his stomach and wheezing. Feeling the pain now and unable to stop as his two little brothers start screaming at each other through speaker phone. God, he _loves_ his family sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No shit, I once heard a conversation very close to this between two friends, and while there was a lot of yelling it didn't end in murder.


	15. Apparently mr clean magic erasers don't clean blood off the ceiling

(843): Apparently mr clean magic erasers don't clean blood off the ceiling 

~

"Well," Stephanie finally admits as she climbs down off the ladder. Her shoulders ache a little and she needs a break. "I don't think you're getting your security deposit back for this one."

"I don't _care_ about the security deposit," Tim says as they stare up at the ceiling. "I care about the police hunting me down to have a few words about suspicious blood stains the land lord called them about."

"We could paint it?" Steph suggests, because she's officially out of ideas at this point and time. If Mr. Clean isn't strong enough then she has no idea what else they can do. "Did you let the blood dry up there? How long has it been since it got there anyway?"

"Um," Tim blinks and squints up at the stains. His eyes flicker as he obviously calculates angles and trajectories. Steph waits patiently. Only a little surprised that Tim's lived in this apartment long enough to have to really think about it. He's usually more transitory than that. "Ninjas. It was ninjas in October sometime."

"Huh, well I say we paint it because we're not cleaning that off now," Steph drops the wet cloth loaded with chemicals she'd been using while Tim broke out the magic erasers, and turns to the kitchen. "At this point it's become part of the ceiling. What I want to know is why you didn't clean it off immediately."

Tim isn't as OCD as she likes to tease him for being, but he is a bit of a neat freak about certain things. Anything that might rot or be a biohazard gets cleaned up immediately, but piles of paper and folders can grow their own civilizations of dust bunnies before he'll so much as look at them.

"Well, I had to take care of the ninja infestation at the time," which would be more impressive if Gotham didn't get invaded by wandering ninja every few weeks, "and I sort of forgot it was all there. I mean, it's on the _ceiling_. I didn't really look up until it was too late."

"I've got a suggestion," Steph says as she looks over the cans of paint Tim bought because it's cheaper than hiring a cleaning crew that won't ask too many questions about all the suspicious holes they're patching in the walls. Tim slumps in the door, a brush and roller in his hands, and looks at her. "Tack a tarp up on the ceiling of your next place. Especially if you're going to hang around it until your lease is up."

Tim blinks and smiles ruefully, "Is it sad that I probably will?"

"No," Steph pushes him out the door and back to the ladder. "It's sad that it's going to actually work."

After all, she would know. She's been making extensive use of tarps in her last two apartments and hasn't had one single regret yet about it.


	16. I'm officially no longer allowed to make any of my own decisions regarding alcohol, men, or the combination of both. Thats up to you now. Do me proud.

(720): I'm officially no longer allowed to make any of my own decisions regarding alcohol, men, or the combination of both. Thats up to you now. Do me proud. 

~

_How will I do that from here?_

Steph gets Cass' text at an awful time of the morning that just shouldn't exist. Ever. She ignores it and goes back to sleep. She waits for a much more reasonable time after noon to reach for her phone and send a response.

_You can do it. I have faith in your abilities._

It's several hours later before she gets an answer. Even with a network that's nothing short of amazing, there are still time differences to account for. Also there's the fact that Cass probably isn't in the part of Asia she likes to let them all pretend she is. At least, that's the feeling Steph gets from how no one's been able to get a solid answer on her location out of her lately.

_Fine. Send pictures._

Which is Cass willing to give this insane plan her best shot. Steph types out a quick question before bundling up to brave the wind for groceries. _Sure, but will you get back to me fast enough to make my decisions?_

She get's an answer before she's even out the door.

_If they are pictures. I will._

~

It's the best decision that Steph's ever made. Giving Cass control over her alcohol and man intake.

Steph sends a picture of a grinning blond man to Cass, and then lets him continue to his best to talk her into a drink. He smiles and laughs when she tells him about her new rule and buys her a martini anyway. Cass doesn't even take a minute to respond.

_No. Married. Go with man behind him._

Sure enough, when Steph actually looks, there's an indent on his ring finger. The skin just discolored enough to be equally telling. She skips out on him and the martini, and finds out that the thin and kind of geeky looking man behind him is actually a very good dancer.

~

There's a row of neon colored shots on the bar that's too long for her camera to fit in one picture and Cass responds in seconds.

_Call Tim. Then down it all._

By the time she's tilting back from the force of slamming the last shot Tim's already there to catch her before she ends up on the floor. "Really?"

"Cass makes the best decisions," Steph grins up at him and gives a thumbs up to the cheering crowd that'd gathered to watch her. "No puke!"

"How about we focus on keeping it that way," Tim says and they're in his car. Steph's not sure how that happened, but it's got to be magic. Tim's magic. Just like his sister. Steph pulls out her phone to tell Cass this.

She wakes up on Tim's couch in the morning feeling like absolute death and a message from Cass apparently in response to the random mash of letters Steph sent the night before.

_Might have been a bad decision. Worth it though._

Steph almost laughs, but the warning pang in her head stops her. She sends a text instead.

_Yeah, and I'm paying your tab when you come to visit so you can experience it too._

She sends it off then holds the camera up to take a selfie and sends that too. Sprawled out on a couch in all her hungover glory with smudged makeup and creases on her sick looking face. But grinning.

Cass responds in seconds with a picture of her own. It's dark where she is and she has some bruised looking dude in a headlock while another comes from behind with a wicked looking knife. She's grinning too. Steph can tell from the crinkle around her eyes.

Best decision ever.


	17. I just ran your car into a ups truck....but on a up note I have a handle of fireball and breakfast burritos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The TFLN website has some suspicious ads forcing new tabs to open and giving false statements that I need to download an update to Firefox. It's made to look like an official Firefox update, but it's not at all. My browser is up to date. So, until that gets fixed I'm not sending any of you to the website.

(720): I just ran your car into a ups truck....but on a up note I have a handle of fireball and breakfast burritos 

~

Bruce pauses and blinks. Looks up at Dick, who does in fact have a bottle in one hand and bag in the other, "Which car?"

"The blue one?" Dick says with an amount of carelessness that is all feigned as he sits down at the table opposite of Bruce. Dick knows exactly which car he wrecked, knows them all by model and year, but he's always likes acting like he knows nothing. Bruce had thought it was a way to rile Tim up before. "Not really sure, I guess the cops will know though when they show up."

"Did you run?" Bruce asks even though it's patently clear that is exactly what he did.

Dick nods and mumbles around a mouthful of egg, sausage, and tortilla. "Yep."

Bruce reaches over and twists the cap off the bottle. "Well, hurry up and drink that before they get here."

Dick obligingly starts taking long pulls between bites of a second burrito. As far as distractions go a Wayne kid drunk crashing a car is barely a blip to the media anymore, but it just might be enough to distract them from their current line of questioning how quickly Tim Drake has been recovering from being shot.

"Do I need to get some brandy?" Bruce asks when Dick finishes the bottle with a long swallow that looks like it hurts. If they can throw a picture of Dick throwing up on the arresting officer's shoes on the internet even Vale might give it enough of a rest that Bruce can get an official enough sounding doctor to sign off on surgery papers he never preformed.

Dick blinks and holds very still. Assessing himself before shaking his head, carefully. "Nah, I'm good, just," he looks down at the bag and grimaces. "Maybe I should finish these closer to the front door? I don't think I'm going to be able to keep them down much longer."

It's a reasonable enough demand. Bruce grabs the bag while Dick gets the empty bottle and they make their way to the front. Dick swaying just slightly enough to show he's starting to feel the effects. Bruce hands over the bag and helpfully opens the door for the cops who will no doubt be by as soon as they finish drawing straws over who is going to actually be the arresting officer.


	18. Who are you, and why are you in my phone as Elf on the Shelf

(781): Who are you, and why are you in my phone as Elf on the Shelf

~

Tim looks at the message and can think of all sorts of reason as to why he'd be called that, but can't think of who might be texting him from that area code about it. He debates just blocking the number but he's actually curious now. _Depends. I have many answers to that question. Who is this?_

_No way, pal, I asked first._

The response is immediate and Tim opens a program on his laptop. Typing in the unknown number and letting it run before typing out his own response. _Well, I don't give my name out to strangers so I guess we're at an impasse here._

_But why would I call you Elf on the Shelf? Is that a thing?_

It's almost eerie how fast this person responds. Tim's fairly sure he can't type that fast on an actual keyboard. He wonders what Bart's doing, but then scraps that thought because this person is too rude to be Bart. Plus Bart would never ask for a name, he'd just assume Elf on the Shelf _was_ Tim's name.

 _You don't know what and Elf on the Shelf is,_ his program pings and Tim checks the name listed on the screen quickly, _Booster?_

Tim has enough time to wonder how the man might have gotten his phone number waiting for the next text. He can't think of any good reason at all, and there's too many unreasonable ways he could have gotten it for Tim's peace of mind.

_Who IS this?_

_Red Robin._ Tim answers honestly because it's funny, but not funny enough to drag it out. _How'd you get my number?_

_No idea. That's why I was asking. What's an Elf on the Shelf?_

Tim has three projects reaching their deadline, and any number of open cases he should be working. Most of which is laid out on the desk before him or open in windows on his laptop. Tim ignores it and sits back. Getting comfortable as he starts to explain the horror that's the Elf on the Shelf.


	19. When you left the bar, you did two cartwheels and a heel click and RAN ALL THE WAY HOME.

(585): When you left the bar, you did two cartwheels and a heel click and RAN ALL THE WAY HOME.

~

"Huh," Dick doesn't even seem phased by the statement. "But how do you know I ran the whole way?"

"Because we followed behind you in a car," Stephanie says evenly, because Dick doesn't look the least bit hungover and she kind of hates him for that right now. "Tim tried to get you to get in the car, and Cass just kept laughing at you when you cartwheeled over things."

"And I didn't puke," it's not a question. It's a statement, like he knows he didn't puke, and it's a sadly truthful statement. "I'm impressed with myself. What was Jason doing?"

Jason had stayed at the bar. Flipped them off when Tim tried to drag him away and told them to have fun Dick hunting by themselves because he wasn't into that kind of thing. A blatant lie, but she knows he'd said it just to make Tim go red in the face. "Jason didn't come home with us."

Dick falls gracefully onto the couch next to her. Slow and fluid like a swan. He doesn't even smell that bad despite the fact that she knows he hasn't had time to take a shower yet. She hates him even more. How can he be this put together? How?

"Well, I hope he had the sense not to drive himself here," Dick muses, his words are slow and deliberate. The only indication that he's not 100% just yet. Steph looks at him and he explains, "Jason's passed out in the back yard."

"Oh," that makes a lot of sense actually. She grins and gets up from the couch. Stopping just long enough to tell Dick, "Tim said something about hosing off the back porch a few minutes ago."

"It's winter," Dick says but he gamely gets back up. He's slow and his movement isn't as graceful. Steph feels a little vindication. Petty and small, but she'll take it.

"I know, that just means he'll have to look for the hose first. I might be able to see it," Steph pulls her phone out and pulls up the camera because Cass is out with Alfred and will be sad to have missed this. She hears Dick following behind her.


	20. I woke up to him "wax on, wax off"-ing my boobs. I just reminded myself that I love him and let it happen.

(908): I woke up to him "wax on, wax off"-ing my boobs. I just reminded myself that I love him and let it happen.

~

Anita does that thing where her lips quirk up like she wants to laugh but she doesn't actually vocalize it. Which Cassie is thankful for. It's _funny_ but it happened this morning and she's not ready to full on laugh at it just yet. She's got another hour or two of grumbling about what a dork he is before she's willing to concede.

Oshi shrieks as Don dumps a bucket of water over her head in the kiddie pool. It's a delighted shriek though and Greta's right there to prevent the obvious counter attack of an empty bucket to the face. The three year olds babble at each other around Greta in a language mash that Cassie still can't quite figure out despite how many times both Greta and Anita have told her what they're saying.

"You were kind of asking for it," Anita eventually says as she finishes deseeding some toddler sized cubes of watermelon. "You did give him the Karate Kid collector's edition for his birthday."

"It was bound to come up sometime," Cissie says as she eyes the sizzling meat patties on the grill. Poking them doubtfully with a shiny spatula. Pressing down on them, making juice run out to sputter on the coals. "Just be thankful it happened in private."

Anita snorts and reaches over to grab some of the carrots that Cassie has been rolling around instead of chopping them into smaller sizes. "Give it time," she predicts fatalistically and Cassie groans as she buries her head in her arms. Anita's right. Knowing Kon, it _is_ only a matter of time.

"Ita! _Ita!_ " Cassie peeks up and looks past Anita at Oshi who has wandered up to the patio and is holding something fuzzy and black in one muddy hand. Her dark eyes wide and excited as she thrusts it up at Anita. A series of baffling sounds falling from her lips.

"He is fuzzy and tickley," Anita answers and wipes her hands on her jeans before reaching down to pluck the --caterpillar, it has to be one of some kind-- out of the girl's hands. "But we don't want to hurt him, Oshi. Let's put him to bed in the garden. Ok?"

Cassie sits back up and reaches for the knife Anita had placed down well away from the edge of the table. Don's working intently on tying a bright yellow boat in Greta's hair, and Oshi is imperiously pointing exactly where she wants the caterpillar to go to Anita. It's a strangely peaceful image to her.

"You know he's probably going to do it during a meeting, right?" Cissie idly points out as she flips one of the burgers. Crowing in victory when it doesn't break apart.

"Oh, shut up," Cassie throws a carrot at her even though she's probably right.


	21. Fuck you, I'm yelling at a mountain right now

(513): Fuck you, I'm yelling at a mountain right now

~

"I'm not a mountain. You're just a midget," the mountain grumbles as it glares down at him. It's an impressive glare, one that's obviously learned from a master and polished by many years of use. Ishido would be impressed if he were anyone else.

"You're a giant," and he'd love to embellish that descriptor, but the kids are in the house and they don't need to learn any new words from him this week. Anita keeps giving him soul crushingly _disappointed_ looks when Oshi starts singing a song she made up that is only her repeating the word 'shit' over and over again. "And you're refusing to leave my doorstep. Tell me again why I shouldn't _remove_ you from my yard."

The mountain looks annoyed and pissed beyond all reason. It's funny, but it also makes him lower his estimated age of him from mid-twenties to late teens. "Look I'm just here to pick up my brother."

Ishido has a pretty good idea who the mountain is here to pick up by now. Same coloring, general attitude of I-will-end-you-from-the-shadows, and a distinct reluctance to use names. The only difference is this one doesn't wear sunglasses big enough to use as sleds. He knows this one is here for the kid everyone still stubbornly calls Rob even though Ishido knows he's had a mask and name change.

"Sure!" Ishido smiles and the mountain grits his teeth, hand twitching to the small of his back in a real interesting way. Ishido feels the comforting weight of his own hidden gun and glances at the AK that's still safely tucked away in it's case. Just beside the door and out of sight of anyone outside. Locked behind breakable glass to keep the kids from playing with it. "Now, what was his name again? I don't think I caught it the first four times I told you to fuck off."

The mountain growls. Actually growls, but doesn't come up with a name. Real or fake because he obviously wasn't informed what name the former Robin was using. Ishido grins wider and settles in for a long block of playing the obfuscating asshole before one of his goddaughter's friends comes into the house and realizes what he's doing.

It's the most fun he's had since work sent him to Russia after a shapeshifting spy.


	22. LESSON OF THE DAY: Saying Everclear gets you out of explaining anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the comments of this chapter for a funny failure in the logic of this argument by El!

(276): LESSON OF THE DAY: Saying Everclear gets you out of explaining anything.

~

Tim frowns and opens his mouth, "But-"

"Everclear," Cassie cuts him off. Saying the word firmly and only once. It's a combination of inflection and understatement that works wonders.

Tim obviously agrees and looks surprised by it. "How does that even work?"

"You tell me that as soon as you can figure out an argument that can win against it," Cassie says with a shrug as a chunk of robot flies through the air over them. Arching up just enough to clear the city and land safely in the harbor.

"That shouldn't be anywhere near as effective as it is," Tim mutters as he turns back to watch the fight. There's only one robot left and the team is obviously having fun taking it apart slowly. It's a showy one-upmanship of powers that they usually discourage, but the robots are just really too old to be a serious threat.

"I don't question it," Cassie says as Blue Beetle tries something and then looks confused as it obviously doesn't work. "I just use if for completely legal if slightly morally bankrupt reasons."

"Like what," Tim mutters and he's studying Blue intently. Cassie can almost see the training schedule he's putting together to make sure the guy doesn't fail the next time her tries whatever he just did. "Getting out of writing your essays?"

"That only works once," Cassie shakes her head sharply as another robot part sails over them. This one shedding small bit of debris as it goes. "It works great at explaining bruises, and ruined clothing though."

"You get bruises," it's a flat statement that she knows is really a question.

"Not a lot, but sometimes, yeah," it's unavoidable at times, and just all out more shocking to other people because it's so rare. "But all I have to do is say Everclear and I'm good. It even works on my _mom_."

"Right," Tim says before standing up. A strange sight in the new costume despite the fact that she's had years to get used to it now. "And how did telling your mom your new excuse go over?"

Cassie grimaces and slips off her perch to float down to the street. Tim following slowly. "Well, it went better than me telling her I had a god trying to kill me again."


	23. I mean, "boo" isn't the appropriate response to someone dying...

(540): I mean, "boo" isn't the appropriate response to someone dying...

~

Jason just gives him the flattest look. "Like they're going to _stay_ that way. Remind me again of any Super who's stay dead. That's right. None! They all come back."

"Well except for, oh, their entire planet," Tim chimes in from the mess of wires and boards that used to be a perfectly fine computer bank before he decided it needed an upgrade. "They're still dead."

"That's beside the point, both of you," Dick says before focusing back on Jason. "It's still a dick move. I mean, what if this is the one time when it doesn't happen?"

"We'd all be busy dying, because you know damn well it'd take a world ending disaster to permanently put one of them out to pasture," Jason says as he rolls his eyes. "I mean, even the human hybrid came back. Right?"

The sad part is that they can hear them having this conversation. Right now. Dick sighs. "Jason...."

There's a ping and Tim emerges from the wires to grab his phone. He taps the screen and looks at it a bit. "Huh, Kon says Kara isn't dead anymore."

"See? What'd I say?" Jason grins and Dick only wants to punch him a little.

"He also says you're a dick," Tim continues. His lips curling up slightly as he continues to read. "And he'll make sure to burn it on your tombstone next time you die."

"Hah!" Jason snorts and crosses his arms over his chest. His chin jutting out. "Joke's on him. Next time I die I'm getting my ass cremated, because fuck you all if you think I'm doing that shit again."

"But Jay," Dick frowns at the thought of it. He doesn't like talking about any of his family dying, despite any previous experience.

"Hell, no," Jason punches Dick hard when he reaches out to touch him. "I'm not waking up in a coffin again. Swear to fuck I'll implant incendiaries _inside_ my body if I so much as _think_ you're going to stick me in one of those boxes, Dick."

"But how would they be triggered?" Tim asks.

"I don't know. I'll wire them to my heart somehow," Jason shrugs the question off easily. "Whatever it takes."

"Hm," Tim looks _thoughtful_ and Dick has a sudden vision of being informed of Jason's regrettable death due to a botched procedure involving bombs and open heart surgery. "What if-"

"No," Tim and Jason both look at him with near identical pouts. " _No_! I swear to god I will murder you both and bring you back if you even _think_ about taking this further."

"You will not be using a Lazarus pit," Damian speaks up. Sudden and ruffled at the thought, and Dick turns on him as well. 

" _Yes_ , I _will_ use the pit," he looks slowly from one brother to the next. Fixing them each with a glare that actually seems to make them shrink back. "This subject is closed."

There's another chime a few seconds into the uncomfortable silence. Tim's eyes flick down, "Kon says we're all kinda messed up."

"Well, no shit," Jason says, and goes back to trying to glare holes into the side of Damian's head as Tim crawls back into his mess of wires. Dick lets it happen and resolves to have a talk with Alfred later. Just to make sure neither Tim nor Jason get a hold of some key pieces of equipment.


	24. I’m concerned you might be passed out on a random rooftop right now. Not concerned enough to do anything about it. Hope you’re alive. Goodnight.

(505): I’m concerned you might be passed out on a random rooftop right now. Not concerned enough to do anything about it. Hope you’re alive. Goodnight.

~

"You didn’t check!?" Dick repeats and his voice might be getting a bit loud. Just a bit as he tries to get a handle on the urge to strangle Jason.

"Like I said, not that concerned, Dick. Little Red’s a big boy now. If he passes out somewhere on patrol he can take care of himself," Jason says, not looking away from the movie playing on the TV.

"He was passed out on the docks!" With a rat curled up on his back. Dick shivers a bit because, rats. He doesn’t like them despite them being one of the most common animals in the city. "You could have at least told one of us!"

"Don’t care," Jason grunts and looks annoyed as he focuses hard on the movie. Obviously pissed that Dick’s interrupting him which is too bad. Dick moves so he’s standing squarely in front of the TV. "Maybe if you all didn’t run after Red so much to fucking _coddle_ him he’d learn not to work himself so hard he passes out on patrol. Now move your ass! I’m trying to watch this."

Alfred disapproves of bloodstains in the manor, Dick forcefully reminds himself. “You left Tim on the docks, Jay. He could have been killed!”

"I ran off anyone who might have been stupid enough to try something," Jason protests and leans around to try and look past Dick. "He was fine! You should’ve let him wake up on his own. Teach him to take care of himself better."

"That makes no sense, Jay!"

"Well, Tim makes no sense," Jason gives up trying to look around him and sits back to glare up at him. "How many times does this make anyway? Six? Eight? How many times has the happened that we _don’t_ know about? It’s pretty obvious what you’re doing to discourage him from repeating the behavior isn’t working. Why not try something new?"

"That’s the kind of plan Bruce comes up with," Dick says and ignores the way Jason’s grimacing at the jab. He deserves it because it really is something Bruce would think of. "And _you’re_ telling Alfred why Tim came back smelling like rats."

"Hey, wait, what?" Jason yelps as Dick walks away. He can hear the couch creak as Jason moves and yells after him, "That’s not fucking fair!"


	25. I don’t know if your celebrity crush has ever asked you for nudes, but it’s fucking awesome

(713): I don’t know if your celebrity crush has ever asked you for nudes, but it’s fucking awesome

~

Cullen still has a demented grin plastered across his dazed face in the morning and keeps tripping over thin air. Harper snorts and kicks some shoes under one of the beds to save his face. "If you don't snap out of it you're going to get some really unattractive bruises."

"Best. Day. Ever!" Cullen insists and his grin only gets wider when his phone chimes. Harper yelps and ducks when he jumps for it. 

"You're setting the bar really low there, bro," she says as his face pretty much crumbles when he realizes the sound is just the timer she set earlier when he was still fanboying. "Now, come on. Tone the smile down before people start thinking you got hit with Joker Venom, and I so don't want to see the school get thrown into lock down again this week."

"But, Harper, Tim-"

"Ah, ah! No!" Harper shakes her head slices her hands through the air emphatically. "Unless you're going to _share_ your illicitly traded goods with me, I don't want to hear any details. It's cruel leaving me to use my imagination."

Cullen laughs and manages to step into some shoes and grab his stuff for school without further prodding on her part. "But Harper," he starts and his grin is --finally-- down to acceptable levels as she locks the door behind them. "How am I going to figure out which Wayne to give to you when I'm firmly in with them?"

"A pretty one will do," Harper says as they start to trudge down the stairs. Listening to the morning sounds seep out from the building as people get up and move around. "I'm not too picky since you took the prettiest one for yourself."

"They're _all_ pretty, Har-" the phone chimes again. This time it's the unmistakable sound of a text and Cullen makes a noise that Harper's ashamed to admit she heard. "He says good morning!"

Harper obligingly looks at the phone her brother is waving in her face and sighs. It's exactly what he says. Two words and nothing else. "Well," Harper prods when Cullen almost trips down the stairs because he's too busy staring at his phone with that demented grin again. "You going to say anything back?"

"Uh," Cullen looks up long enough to avoid a discarded newspaper. "I guess? Would that seem too eager though?"

"Too eager?" Harper nearly trips into a wall and curses as she regains her balance. "Cullen! You spent an hour in the bathroom last night taking nude photos to send him! How is saying good morning worse than that?"

"I dunno," Cullen slips the phone back into his pocket and shrugs at her. Not looking the least bit sheepish at all, and she's torn between being proud of him for it and wanting to question the world where her innocent little brother went. "Just seems like it would be, and I don't want to run him off until I at least get to go on an actual date with him."

"I thought you guys were dating," Harper stops to give her brother a suspicious look. "Isn't that what all that TV watching was? I thought it was the geek mating dance you two were doing."

"We were watching _Sherlock_!" Cullen sounds offended. Like he does every time she doesn't quiet understand some obscure reference he makes and has to explain it to her. "That's an _experience_ , you can't just turn it into a date."

"Which is why I kept finding you sucking on his tongue every time," Harper rolls her eyes and just lets it go. She loves her brother, she really does, and she's happy for him but she will never fully understand him. 

"That was a totally appropriate reaction for the episode!" Cullen says as he walks ahead of her. Quickly so she won't see how closely his face might match the red that's crawling up the back of his neck. "Benedict Cumberbatch was in a sheet!"

"Just text him," Harper follows slowly and lets him get his distance so he can do his little freak out in relative peace. She wonders if Tim is as weird as Cullen is too, and if she can use that to her advantage somehow.


	26. I just remembered that you tried to trade me for a glass of wine

(937): I just remembered that you tried to trade me for a glass of wine

~

Dick looks furious. So does Alfred for that matter. Bruce doesn't really see the problem though. "If you had gone for it we would have been able to bug them a lot easier."

"Before or after I was tied up in their S&M dungeon?" Dick sasses back immediately with an honest to god pout. 

"You _liked_ her," Bruce points out because Cathy Ried was a natural redhead and Dick is nothing but predictable.

"I was drunk!" Dick says, but doesn't actually protest his claim. "Really, _really_ drunk. Do you have any idea how humiliated I'd have been if I couldn't get it up!?"

Which is actually a valid point, but Alfred loudly clears his throat before Bruce can say anything in response. "I do believe we are straying from the point here gentlemen."

Bruce feels his shoulders go stiff under Alfred's glare, and Dick actually flinches.

"Playing drunk at a social event is one thing," Alfred starts on Dick first and Bruce doesn't feel the least bit happy about it. Alfred always saves his worst for last. "Actually being as drunk as you are pretending to be is a whole other matter, Richard. This is not one of your weekend visits to see your friends, and the messes you make are _mine_ to clean up."

"Sorry," Dick mutters sheepishly and doesn't offer to help. By now, Alfred has already cleaned up whatever Dick did. Instead he's going to have a whole list of absolutely mind numbing chores to do for the rest of the day. Things that Alfred deliberately puts off doing just for this reason.

"And," Alfred's voice rises and Bruce grimaces at the ire in the man's eyes when he turns. "How many times must we go over this? Your children are not commodities you can trade, sir. I do not care how foppish you must appear in public, or how much it will further one of your cases. You will not try to sell one of them for anything ever again! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Alfred," it's still amazing to Bruce how the slightest raise in the older man's voice can make him feel like he's twelve all over again. Bruce knows that there's a list, somewhere in the manor, for him as well. This one filled with chores especially saved for him. Chores like stopping by the office to sort and file all the papers Lucius normally deals with, or going down to the police station to personally pay all of his tickets and apologize to the officers he's rubbed wrong for one reason or another.

"Good," Alfred gives them both one last disappointed look before shrugging on a coat. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few things that need tending to."

The wait for Alfred to leave before turning back to the kitchen. Dick enters first and goes for the cabinets where two pieces of paper are waiting. "I need a drink."

Bruce, after taking his list and looking it over, silently agrees.


	27. Literally just napped at strip club. Don't know how long

(601): Literally just napped at strip club. Don't know how long

~

"That's either the most boring or most interesting story I've heard all week," Jason finally says after a long minute of silent staring and judging. Tim doesn't feel the least bit embarrassed by any of it. "Please tell me you were there legitimately and passed out mid-lapdance. _Please_."

"I was placing wiretaps," Tim rolls his eyes. Strip clubs aren't Tim's idea of fun, though he doesn't mind them from behind the changing room doors. And that is something that Jason will _never_ know about. All of those mission reports are carefully filed under expense reports. Bruce can access them if he needs to, but no one else will ever see them. He gets enough flack for Caroline Hill as it is. 

"You couldn't even lie for me, could you?" Jason goes back to watching the drug pusher he maimed and cuffed, and the man's brave attempt to get to the street from the alley. The man's managed to wriggle a whole five inches forward using the awkward caterpillar inching method. "How can you be so fucking lame? Dick has more interesting stories when he does his laundry. I hope you woke up drooling."

Tim doesn't drool in his sleep. That's the sole domain of Damian and Dick. And Bruce, but none of them ever tell him about it. "Dick waits until he's out of underwear and is down to the rattiest jeans and tightest shirt to do his clothes in a public laundromat. There's a hashtag on Twitter for when he's seen leaving his apartment with a hamper. You can't compare anything to laundry days, it's an unfairly high bar to set."

"Well if I set it high enough you just might make an effort to surpass it," Jason's rolling his eyes behind the mask. The man far below them is still. His back heaving as he pants from what has to be the most physical activity he's seen in years. Tim's actually curious if this will be enough to prevent a repeat performance. The man is a first time offender after all. There's a chance he could be smarter than the average man. "How the fuck do you even fall asleep in a strip club? The volume is insane in those places."

"It's kind of comforting actually," Tim shrugs at the blatantly incredulous face Jason gives him. "There's a beat to it that you can feel in your chest. It's surprisingly soothing."

Which is another aspect that he learned in the changing rooms. It's easy for strippers to get nervous on stage, and one of the easiest ways to work through it --for Tim at least-- was to concentrate on the beat. To feel the music and focus on it so thoroughly it chased all thoughts away. It was a surprisingly effective lesson that Tim has applied to many situations.

"Freak," Jason declares when the man starts inching his way forward again. Getting closer to the invisible mark that Jason had marked earlier. The point when they'd drop down again and really scare the life out of the man. Tim's fairly sure this will be the man's last night trying to break any law. " _Boring_ freak."

Tim shrugs and lets the matter go. They've got a good fifteen or twenty minutes to kill before the man makes the mark. Plenty of time to explain how not boring Tim actually is, but he rather likes being seen that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1141376) is the JayTim flavored follow up to this bit.


	28. I got a blow torch for Christmas. You are now permitted to be afraid.

(612): I got a blow torch for Christmas. You are now permitted to be afraid.

Tim doesn't see his life flash before his eyes or anything cliche like that, but it feels like it should have happened. "Who gave it to you and why did they think it was a good idea?"

"Bruce," Jason says, because _of course_ it was Bruce. Who else would think it was a good idea to give Jason something that was designed to actually produce flames? As if the man didn't spend enough time modifying things that didn't have that ability as it is.

"Bruce makes _terrible_ decisions."

"Yep, I blame Christmas," Jason leans back against the wall. An entirely too satisfied smile on his face. "He gets panicked about it and just starts throwing money around and wrapping it all up. Doesn't matter if it's a good idea or not. He just wants the whole thing over with."

Which explains both the kind of manic look Bruce got half way through the month, and why Tim can get a really sweet car for his birthday but opened up a package of plaid socks for Christmas. "Is that why Dick kept trying to sneak his gifts out of the manor?"

"Alfred only points out the really bad ones to be removed, but," Jason shrugs because his gift was probably one of the bad ones this year, "Dick's only one man and it's harder than you'd think getting one out past Bruce."

"Especially if it's the size of a blow torch," Tim sighs and wonders if he's going to have to worry about his safety. He stops, considers Jason smile that just won't stop, and rethinks that thought. He wonders _when_ he's going to have to worry about his safety. And whether or not he'll actually be in uniform when it happens.


	29. You, me, naked, mistletoe, fifth of jack, gallon of lube, condoms, Cheetos, handcuffs, rope, along with no morals, inhibition or judgment. That's all I want for Christmas.

(586): You, me, naked, mistletoe, fifth of jack, gallon of lube, condoms, Cheetos, handcuffs, rope, along with no morals, inhibition or judgment. That's all I want for Christmas.

~

The phone rings for a long time, and Dick knows that Jason is on the other end just staring at it in absolute horror. He grins and nearly lets himself laugh now, but Jason chooses that second to pick up. The line is silent and Dick let's it drag well beyond what he should if he were the kind of older brother his siblings all want instead of the one they actually have.

"So," Dick drawls and he can _feel_ Jason bracing himself, "should I assume that was sent to the wrong person, or should I return what I actually got you to the store?"

"Dick," and that right there. The barely suppressed wail of anguish is what makes being a big brother so worth it to Dick. Even when Jason rallies quickly and continues in his usual I-could-give-a-fuck tone. "Go fuck your self. Course that was for someone else. Who'd want your ass anyway?"

There are so many ways Dick can take the conversation from here. He can give an extensive list on who exactly wants his ass, he can ignore Jason's denial and 'talk' to him about his repressed feelings, or- "And who's ass is it that you actually want, Jay? Literally, because if you need a _gallon_ of lube for anything but anal I'm going to have to reteach you about the joys of foreplay."

"That's none of your fucking business," Jason starts out slow. Working up to what promises to be a blistering rant that will do absolutely nothing to deter Dick from repeating his question until Jason gives into the inevitable and told him a name. 

"Is that Jason?" Tim pauses outside the door to the room. Head cocked as he listens to the cursing that can be heard quite clearly past the phone's speaker.

Dick nods paying more attention Jason's increasingly inventive descriptions of exactly what Dick can do to himself. Tim comes into the room and leans against the couch. "Great," he raises his voice enough so that it can be heard through the phone. "Can you ask him what he wants for Christmas for me? I texted him an hour ago and he hasn't replied yet, and I need to get that shopping done today."

"Fuck," Jason says. Breaking into the perfect silence that Dick's mind has descended to. So quiet he hadn't even noticed Jason had stopped talking until that single word.

"Dick? Are you alright?" Tim looks alarmed as he leans down. Morbid curiosity warring with worry across his face. "Wow, I've never seen you go that pale before. Jason, what did you do to him?"

There's a loud and obvious click that startles Dick out of his numb daze. Dick pulls the phone away and confirms that, yes, Jason did just hang up on him. He looks up and Tim blinks at him. Confused and a little wary. He smiles but it doesn't seem to relieve his little brother who looks like he's considering going for the sedatives. 

"An icepack. He wants some of them, better buy in bulk. And for me," Dick stands up slowly enough not to startle Tim as he starts planning routes and estimating how long it's going to take him to hunt Jason down. "Get me some brain bleach."


	30. Do you know how much wine is in a box of wine? Not so much an amount, but whether it will kill me if I drink the entire box this xmas

(330): Do you know how much wine is in a box of wine? Not so much an amount, but whether it will kill me if I drink the entire box this xmas

~

"You are at Bruce Wayne's manor," Steph says when Tim picks up. "I demand to know why you're asking about _boxed_ wine."

"Because Alfred's keeping the wine cellar key very close and every other bottle has already been claimed," Tim says. His voice is high and tight, and she knows he's doing that thing with his face that makes him look utterly calm until you see the muscles under his right eye twitch occasionally. "I am lucky to have found this box of Franzia, alright?"

Huh, Steph had been sure she took all her stuff out of the manor months ago. Maybe she missed something, or it's Dicks. It probably is Dick's if it'd been hidden. Steph had always just put her stuff in the kitchen where Alfred told her to put it. It was the boys who persisted in hiding everything. "Well, I hate to say it, but I think you're going to live."

"What if I drank it in under five minutes?" Tim asks, hopeful.

"Then you'd be running for the bathroom on minute six," Steph smiles at Tim's groan. "Just wake up an hour early and drink it before breakfast. You won't die but you'll be pretty buzzed until noon."

"Do you have any idea what an hour early entails here?" Tim asks absolutely horrified.

"Well, sleep deprivation will make the buzz that much better," there is a reason Steph isn't at the manor right now, and it's not solely for the fact that she wants to spend the morning with her mom. "I thought you were going to camp out with Cass this year?"

"Cass turned traitor on me," Tim groans again, and his voice sounds muffled. She kind of wants to tell him to hang up and Skype her because Tim's face must be a hilarious sight right now. "She's harboring Damian."

"Well, you have to admit he's got a better case than you in this."

Tim's silent for a few minutes. "How?"

"Because until you overprotective grumps loosen up, he's not allowed to crawl into a bottle," Steph points out and graciously doesn't point out how stopping the sixteen year-old from drinking smacks of so much hypocrisy.

"He's _sixteen_!" Tim protests and Steph rolls her eyes. Hard.

"Well, there you go. He's not allowed to drink so Cass is going to give him shelter over you. It's called _mercy_ , Tim."

"She's still a traitor," Tim stubbornly insists. He goes quiet and Steph can hear him moving things around. "I've got Listerine. Would that work if I drank it before or after the wine?"

"If you're that desperate just sneak out and raid someone's party," there's bound to be some event going on way out there. 

"You're not helping me here, Steph," Tim whines but he's also laughing, and probably looking out the window for any tell-tale bright lights of a party.

"Whatever, Boy Wonder," Steph flops down on her bed and listens to the quiet of the house. "Just do your raid and take a nap. I'll see you for dinner tomorrow."

"Sure, avoid the worst of it, Girl Wonder," there's a scrape of a window opening and Steph can hear the wind now. "Night."

Steph hangs up and flips onto her stomach. Contemplating the time on her phone before sighing. Only four more hours before her body would actually begin to feel tired. Sometimes she hated her job. Not a lot, but just sometimes.


	31. Though I do have to question why i found you and my brother passed out on his bedroom floor, no clothing between you except his tie wrapped around your dick

(+44): Though I do have to question why i found you and my brother passed out on his bedroom floor, no clothing between you except his tie wrapped around your dick

~

Roy hasn't actually met the newest little brother Dick hasn't been able to shut up about, and that's a damn shame. Mostly because this really, really shouldn't be the first impression anyone has of him. Some people -- _Wally_ \-- might say it's the most informative impression anyone can make about him, but he'd rather at least be conscious when he makes such a colossal screw up. 

"Uh," Roy stalls for time because the boy looks like he actually expects an answer out of him. He does look like a creepy little Bruce clone with his intense eyes and frown that Roy swears is a mirror image of the man's default face.

Damian arches an eyebrow. A wordless demand for an explanation, and how the kid can pull it off while eating _Fruitloops_ has to be that bat thing that's inherited with the Robin mask or something.

"Yeah, I don't have an answer for that kid," Roy says as he takes careful sips of his coffee and wonders where the hell Dick is. He swore he'd be down right after Roy almost an hour ago. If he finds out Dick somehow _knew_ Damian walked in on them and was going to conduct an interrogation on it Roy's going to have to reconsider their mutual prank cease fire agreement.

"How can you not have an answer?" Damian snaps. His forehead wrinkling in obvious frustration and distaste. It's a cute look on the kid, just like Dick always says, but Roy is kinda psychic. He can see a future where Damian gets bigger and that look abruptly goes from cute to assholish. "You were there. You must know!"

"Well, Captain Morgan and Jamison was there too. So," Roy lets that sentence trail off and starts to lay out a few simple pranks to get started on because Dick has _clearly_ abandoned him to his fate.

Damian's nose wrinkles up in disgust and he makes a noise. A harsh click of his tongue that expresses even more disgust. He looks like one of those dogs that are all wrinkles and folds of skin, except a puppy one. With sharp teeth. "The two of you are drunken fools! I hope you learned something from your idiocy."

Roy grins because --despite his hangover and his plans to main Dick's hair-- he suddenly gets _why_. He gets why Dick goes out of his way to pick Damian up and _throw_ him into every situation he can. Roy wants to see this kid at a rave in civilian clothes. Wants to see him at school getting asked to prom by the sweetest, shiest girl in the school. He wants to see him in front of a camera when Bruce is playing an airhead, and being _cooed_ over by the really old rich ladies.

Why? Because seeing this kid interact with the world must be comedy gold.

Damian is giving him a hostile, but wary stare. "Why are you smiling like that? You look like Grayson when he's planning something idiotic."

The kid is inching away but trying not to appear like he's retreating. It's obvious that something in Roy's expression has triggered a well deserved fight or flight instinct in him. Just as obvious as the fact that Damian has chosen fight. Roy grins wider, "I got a daughter you know. She's about your age...."

He forgives Dick's abandoning him because it's obvious now that he'd been wanting Roy to share in this. Roy doesn't even pay much attention to what he's saying as he dumps all the pranks he'd drawn up and starts planning. A trip to Disneyworld isn't something that one just does on the spur of the moment after all. Especially not when one is planning on bringing two kids along for the ride.


	32. WHY DO I KEEP FINDING CHICKEN THROUGHOUT THE HOUSE? GET YOUR ASS HOME NOW!

(318): WHY DO I KEEP FINDING CHICKEN THROUGHOUT THE HOUSE? GET YOUR ASS HOME NOW!

~

"When you said chicken. I thought," Jason tilts his head and he's not even _trying_ to fight the smirk, "you meant like a bucket of fried chicken or something."

"If it was KFC I'd be eating it, not bitching you out," Tim snarls as he carefully wraps another neon bandaid --Dick's and Tim's a little worried that all the pink ones are gone-- around the million holes he now has in his hands. "Also, I'd blame it on Dick."

Unholy screeches erupt from the dog carrier someone had bought for Titus. Tim glares at it as a few feathers fly out from the fight. 

"Vicious, aren't they?" Jason whistles as he bends down to look at the half dozen chickens that've been captured so far. "Man, how drunk was I last night?"

"I'd say stupid drunk but that's your default state," Tim finishes the worst of the bleeding pecking wounds and throws a burlap bag at Jason's delighted face. "Damian has two cornered in the library, and since you brought the possessed things here you get to help catch them," Jason opens his mouth and Tim cuts him right off before the older man can begin that game. "Or you can explain to Alfred why the manor is filled with chicken droppings. Your choice."

"Touché," Jason mutters as he throws the bag over his shoulder and wanders off in the direction of the library. Slow enough to show he's choosing to do it all on his own. 

Tim doesn't care. He has no more fucks to give anymore. He waits for Jason to leave hearing range before turning back to the beady little eyes in the cage. "And now that Demon brat is going to be too occupied to protect you, your feathery butts have a date with a grill."

Tim smiles as he goes to find the charcoal.


	33. Sorry I punched you in the throat.  You got in my way.  You understand.

(310): Sorry I punched you in the throat. You got in my way. You understand.

~

"Well, _I_ don't," Dick says and he sounds pissed. Probably looks it to, but fuck it if Jason's going to look. He's _comfortable_ on his bed dammit. "So explain it to me. Why'd you have to punch Damian in the throat?"

"Because he was in my way," Jason repeats and wonders if he can fake a sudden bout of the blackout to make Dick go the fuck away. "I apologized to the little shit, didn't i? What more do you want from me?"

"An _explanation_!" Dick cries out and the bed shudders under a kick. "One that makes sense, Jay."

Fucking hell. Jason rolls onto his back with a grunt so he can fix Dick with his very best glare. "He. Got. In. My. Way. I can't break it down any further than that until I get four hours of uninterrupted sleep, asshole. If it worries you that much go find the brat and have him explain it," Jason rolls back onto his stomach and smashes his face back into his too soft for words pillow. "Now get the fuck out before I start shooting at you, and my aim's gone to shit so you're gambling with what I can and can't hit."

~

"Simple," Damian says with a snort, his voice still hoarse and painful sounding despite the fact that the boy seems pleased with gravelyness of it. "I got in his way."

"Damian, no," Dick says. Pained and weary already from this conversation. "He didn't need to do that. You could have been seriously hurt!"

"Are you implying that Todd does not know what he is doing? After you have spent so much time impressing on me the supposed considerable skill he possesses?" Damian can be a little shit, and Dick is fully aware of that fact. He loves the kid regardless even when his tone of voice makes Dick want to strangle someone. Sometimes Damian, sometimes himself, but Bruce is it the majority of the time. "Todd is an idiot but he does have some talent. I was in no danger at all, Grayson."

"That's not really the point, D," Dick sighs though at this point even he's loosing sight of the point. "He could have literally done anything else to get you out of the way. _Anything_. He chose to punch you in the throat, and you both think this is fine?"

"Yes," Damian's voice clearly implies he's frustrated by Dick's inability to get this fact. "It was the most efficient, non-lethal way to keep from losing the target. Or was our mission not as vitally important as you let on?"

"No, we needed Dunn," badly enough to warrant an all out attack that concentrated them too thickly on one part of the city. Dick rubs the skin at the base of his neck. Fingers digging into the tight muscles as he decides to give it up. This is obviously something he's just not going to understand. 

The strange give and take abuse that only Jason and Damian seem to understand the rules to. A game where some hits are completely acceptable, even expected, but others are only invitations to bloody revenge. 

"I'm going to," Dick looks down at Damian who's absorbed by his phone again and not really paying him much attention now. "Go find Tim, or some beer. Probably a whole case."

Damian grunts and Dick decides he really likes the beer idea, and goes off to find some.


	34. I want a battle ostrich, get me a battle ostrich and then come and make love to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heh, actually, this is Roy here. I see this particular text taking place in the Young Justice cartoon universe.

(+44): I want a battle ostrich, get me a battle ostrich and then come and make love to me

~

"They’ve got you on the good drugs, don’t they?"

Tim opens his eyes to find a very attractive face grinning down at him. He admires it for a while before remembering it asked him a question. “What?”

The face is attached to an equally attractive body that Tim also admires because it’s there and Tim has nothing better to do than close his eyes and smell the world shift around him. It’s entered a sickly yellow stage and he doesn’t quite enjoy it as much as the red phases.

A hand snags one of the several hanging bags attached to him that tend to glow when Tim’s not looking at them. “Yep, the good stuff,” the face announces after squinting at the bag. Tim likes the face. It smiles a lot and has hair that reminds him of the best parts of the red phase. There’s a name for that face but Tim can’t quite catch hold of it. It ducks behind the yellow and tries to reach the face.

Or maybe the body. Tim wold try to reach that body too if he could but his own body isn’t obeying him very well right now. “No good stuff. Just yellow, all yellow. Too much take it away.”

"Sure," the face’s body moves somethings around and sits down on the bed next to him. It’s nice. Tim can feel actual warmth on that side of his body now. Also, a close up view of a nicely muscled right arm? Always a plus. "You want that done before or after I get you that battle ostrich?"

"Battle ostrich?" Tim frowns. "That’s stupid. Who wants an ostrich in battle? They’re to evil to pick sides."

"Soon as you’re not high as fuck I’m showing you the text you sent me," the face is laughing and it’d be a nice laugh but Tim thinks it’s aimed at him. Which isn’t so nice. "Because I’m willing to return your ostrich, but I don’t think I can return the lube and condoms as easily. So we’re just going to have to use them up."

"Ok," Tim agrees because that sounds perfectly reasonable to him. The yellow is fading though and the red is rushing back in fast. Tim blinks and his eyes don’t open, but it’s alright. He’s ok to sleep in red phases. "Later."

He hears something but the red drowns it out.


	35. Don't call police on the strange man passed out in his car in the driveway. I'll be home around noon to collect him.

(860): Don't call police on the strange man passed out in his car in the driveway. I'll be home around noon to collect him.

~

"Roy Harper doesn't count as a strange man, Dick," Tim says into the phone as he leans over Cass' back to peer down into the driveway. "Not after last Christmas' party. He's practically family now."

"We didn't actually get married you know," Dick sounds like a thousand miles of wrecked but Tim knows he probably looks perfect. Because his carnie genes don't allow for anything less than that. "It's not even legal so the wedding was totally invalidated from the start."

"You've explained this to Alfred?" Tim lays down on Cass' back, propping his chin on her shoulder and holding the phone between both their ears so she can hear too. "Because he's outside right now with a warm towel, a bucket, and his special hangover cure."

Dick makes a pained and confused sound. "His special medicine? But he only gives that to _family_!"

"Roy is your husband," Cass says as they watch Alfred get to work. Extricating and bundling up Roy in he most efficient manner possible. "He is family."

"Why do you think Lian got that special Easter basket last month?" Tim pipes in as the two figures stumble into the manor. Cass nudges him with her elbow and Tim rolls right. She follows him onto the floor easily. Keeping her ear pressed up against the phone as Dick groans. "Face it, Dick. Roy's part if this family until you convince Alfred otherwise. Why do you think Bruce got drunk the next day?"

Dick doesn't say anything but there's the sound of him rolling out of where ever he is, and that's the best they're going to get until the hangover passes. Cass ends the call for him and they both spend a good long while laughing.


	36. Someone the age of your son tried to go home with me from the bar last night

(860): Someone the age of your son tried to go home with me from the bar last night

~

It’s worrying that it takes Bruce a good two minutes to place the number as Queen’s. It’s less worrying figuring out how Green Arrow got his number in the first place.

Clark. The answer is always Clark when it comes to these things.

The implications and logical follow through on them, however, are down right terrifying. Bruce sits in his office for an hour, phone in hand, debating how badly he needs to know that person did not succeed in following Queen home. Considering the fact that to get an answer he’d have to text Queen back and ask which one? The prospect of satisfying his curiosity sounds less and less appealing by the second.


	37. Just hook me up with your dad already stop being selfish.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because pairings were assumed for the last chapter, I took one and ran with it. It's surprisingly hard finding a 'oops I almost slept with your dad text' though.

(509): Just hook me up with your dad already stop being selfish.

~

"Kill me now," Tim groans as he lets the phone drop over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He hopes it breaks so there's no evidence of how utterly drunk he got last night, he'll buy Connor a new phone later. One that doesn't have a truly incriminating history of texts on it.

Connor reaches over to pat soothingly on his back. He's doing that thing that Tim had only known Connor to pull off without seeming like an ass. Grimacing at Tim's pain and mortification while also laughing his ass off. Silently.

"I don't think he minded. You really flattered him you know?" Connor says, trying to be nice about Tim trying to aggressively make out with his _Dad_ at a bar. "I think he's too busy focusing on, um, Batman to really care? He's been watching his phone all morning while cackling."

"You're not helping Connor," Bruce knows about it. Tim curls up into a little ball and shoves his face under the pillow which smells a lot like Connor actually. "Am I in your bed?"

Connor climbs up onto the mattress and sits beside him. A welcoming line of warmth against his back as the other man starts kneading at the tense areas if his back. Easing them and the threatening rise of nausea. "Yes, I was afraid you'd injure yourself somehow if you were not watched."

"You should have put me on the floor," Tim says, muffled by the pillow.

"You're my friend," Connor says and it's both an explanation and a rebuke for assuming Connor might do anything less than the most polite thing. Well, aside from the times when he feels like introducing his fist into people's faces, but Tim knows Connor is a firm believer in everything having it's own time and place. Violence for criminals, and sleeping on the floor for friends so drunk they're hitting on his dad. "Do you think you can handle some toast or should I just get you water?"

Tim considers the question carefully and his stomach doesn't totally rebel at the thought of dry toast. "I think I can handle the food. Wait," Tim pulls his head out and squints up at Connor's calm face, "isn't your Dad in the kitchen?"

"Yes."

Tim doesn't groan or whimper again, though he wants to. "Can I just go out the window?"

"Only if you promise not to deliberately try and fall on your head doing it," Connor rolls out of bed with all the grace of a man who's never had a drink in his life. "Also, if you promise to come back in the front door after. You _know_ you're not leaving here without talking to my father. He'll hunt you down if you try, and if you're not as hungover when he finds you he won't be as merciful."

"Kill me," Tim sighs before crawling out of the bed, bringing the warm and soft blanket with him. If he's going to be utterly mortified, he's going to have something he can turtle into until the toast gets made.

Connor laughs and Tim hates him a little for it because even that isn't malicious enough for Tim to justify lashing out.


	38. I'm gonna play this game called Conquer the Dicks. I think it is self explanatory.

(906): I'm gonna play this game called Conquer the Dicks. I think it is self explanatory.

~

"Uh, no, it's really not," Stephanie says over the comms as she nails a landing with a slight grunt. Not letting herself slow as she continues running into the next jump. Her grapples resetting just in time for the next firing. "Because with the capitalization and sudden case of doppelgangers I can take that in three different ways, and only two of them go in the same direction. Which is a horrifying thought by the way. Thanks for sharing."

"You're only horrified because you didn't get to say it first," Babs' voice is still digitized, but Steph's been working with the woman long enough to hear the amusement through it all. "Or watch everyone's faces when they got the mass text."

"You'd better have it recorded," Steph says as she twists midair to change her trajectory. A flash of liquid darkness catching her eye. She lands on the roof at the same time the Nightwing doppelganger lands. The resemblance is uncanny, and would fool anyone who doesn't actually know Dick. The expressionless face that turns toward her is chilling to those familiar with the man who loves to express himself with every last fiber of his being. "Also, have we figured out where these things are coming from yet?"

It's insultingly easy to dodge the attacks, and Steph can't even take any thrill in how easy it is to slip past the flying fists and stab a batarang into the clone's side. It pops with a sound a lot like a balloon, misting her with a bit of moisture that smells vaguely like the sea. Nothing else at all is left behind.

"Magic would be my guess," Babs responds. "Still waiting on confirmation from any of the Zataras. Head West. Four blocks."

Steph is already jumping, not questioning the directions as the city is being overwhelmed by the wave of silent Nightwings that don't seem to really care who they're fighting. "How many am I looking for?"

"I don't know," Babs says after an uncharacteristic pause. "I'm getting a signal in the area that I think is from N's tracers. Look around and see if you can figure the source out. BB is on her way, but she's further out. ETA fifteen minutes if she's not stopped."

"Got it," Steph says as she swings to a stop over a street that looks completely unremarkable and way too quiet to not be suspicious. "Guess it's my turn to conquer some Dicks."

"Please, just don't," Tim's voice groans over the line making Steph grin. "Can we stop with this particular pun already? It's not even that good!"

"It's genius, RR," Bab's says with enough smugness to bleed all over the line. "Just wait until we get N back. It's going to be priceless."


	39. "Masturbate" is an actual item on an actual ToDo list of mine.  It is at the top.

(307): "Masturbate" is an actual item on an actual ToDo list of mine. It is at the top.

~

"And I have a list of things that I do not actually need to know," Harper snarks back as she peers dubiously into the pot she has on the stove. It's bubbling, but the liquid has turned a shade of brown she doesn't think should be considered edible by mankind. "That fact, right there, is at the top. It's probably the very first thing on my list actually."

Cullen doesn't look the least bit sorry or remorseful from where he's sprawled out over the space he's managed to clear on their table. Chin propped up on the half-disassembled remains of a fan as he stares mournfully into space. Or his over dramatic head. It's hard telling with her brother sometimes.

"It's pathetic," Cullen continues as if she hadn't spoken at all, and Harper turns back to the soup that she'd been assured only needed to be heated up to be edible. "I'm an attractive, single guy in a big city. Masturbating shouldn't be at the top of my To Do list. I should have a nice, attractive boyfriend to take care of that _for_ me."

It's going to be one of _those_ nights. Harper sighed as she stirred the thickening soup with a spoon. Scrapping up a slimy and slightly green sludge that she doesn't recall coming out of the container when she opened it. Yeah, they're not eating it. She scrunches her nose at it before twisting the dial on the stove off and setting the pot aside. 

"I mean, I am attractive, right?" Cullen asks with the hint of a whine that isn't like him at all, and Harper abandons her plans for bowls. She goes straight for the fridge and pulls out the Ben & Jerry's, snagging two spoons as she turns back to Cullen who's squinting at his own warped reflection in the side of a dented toaster oven. "Oh, god, my nose looks funny. That's it isn't it? That's the reason why I don't have a boyfriend. I'm hideous!"

"No, you're not," Harper shifts the ice cream and spoons to one arm and fists her free hand in the back of Cullen's jacket. Hauling her idiot brother up and pulling him to their couch. She shoves a spoon at him before sitting down and prying the lid off the container. Taking a hefty first scoop for herself. "There's nothing wrong with you, you are an absolute catch and everyone else are idiots for not seeing that."

"But-" Cullen starts. Sullen and not willing to give his sulk up so easily even as he jabs at the ice cream. Rocky Road, his favorite.

"Nope!" Harper kicks her foot out and drags her laptop close enough to scoop it up. Balancing it precariously between them. "You're feeling sad and insecure for stupid reasons, and I'm not going to let you make that worse. So eat your ice cream, and decide what we're watching tonight. I got Supernatural or Teen Wolf. Which one is going to make you feel better?"

"Supernatural," Cullen says as he collapses against her shoulder, forcing her to shift the laptop. "I don't want to even think about high school right now."

Right, Harper cues up the video player and makes a mental note to dig around at school and find out who's going to be getting a black eye in the morning. Cullen grumbles a little more, but the combination of ice cream and pretty men on the screen has him relaxing quickly just like she'd planned. Another episode, maybe two, and he'll be over whatever it was that got his mind going in that downward spiral. Harper smiles to herself and digs back into the icecream, settling back to enjoy the fact that Jared Padalecki is taking his shirt off on the screen. Her own reward for being an awesome older sister.


	40. It's something I can't competently describe without making sex sounds.

(503): It's something I can't competently describe without making sex sounds.

~

"Then feel free to not describe it," Damian says as he aims a disgusted look at the back of Brown's head. She turns her head back to give him an insolent grin that's a shade too close to Grayson's to be truly comforting. "It's _ice cream_. It cannot be so good that you need be so embarrassingly lurid about it."

"Just you wait, Dami," Brown says, her voice rising like she is singing as she continues to lead him down the street. He's lost sight of Cassandra already, and has to trust that his sister knows the way and is already at this custard stand waiting for them. "You'll change your tune when you try it."

"I highly doubt that," Damian grumbles as he dodges Brown's long hair that whips out as she makes a sharp turn into an unmarked store. He eyes it with distrust. There is no sign that it could be anything but an abandoned storefront from the street. He doubts they do good business with this kind of marketing. Pushing through the door he sees that the inside looks closer to what he's come to expect of such establishments. "And do not call me by that ridiculous diminutive."

"Dick does it all the time," Brown says, but she's not paying him one bit of attention. She's crowded up next to Cassandra at the counter. Both of them nearly pressing their faces into the class covering the selection of --custard creams, he supposes given what the chalkboard menu proclaims-- in their containers.

"Grayson is a fool," Damian peers around Cassandra at the vivid array of colors and tries to match them to the names on the slips of paper. Some seem like they may fit, but others do not. He scowls down at one container of pale green that proclaims itself to be some sort of Passion Mint Pistachio. "That looks disgusting."

"It's not bad," Cassandra murmurs, her own eyes tracking the row that contains mostly chocolates. "There are better ones though."

"Marshmallow Death," Brown informs the bored looking teenage girl who eventually wanders up to serve them. It's a confection of chocolate with swirls of white and crumbling dark chunks that are either cookie or more chocolate. It's undoubtedly overly sweet and sickening.

"That," Cassandra points at another chocolate based one that has swirls of red in it. Two scoops of each are placed in clear plastic containers before the server is looking down at Damian.

Damian grimaces and runs his eyes over the selection before choosing one that does not appear to be terribly bad. "The raspberry."

"No vanilla!" Brown cheers like it's an accomplishment. "Feeling adventurous?"

Damian sighs and takes his container as Cassandra hands over one the cards father periodically gives them. He doesn't answer Brown's teasing as he turns to search fro the spoons. They're plastic and at least appear to be clean. He takes three and turns to find his companions already seated. Staring hungrily at their own containers. 

"This had best be as good as you've made it out to be," Damian says as the other two spoons are all but snatched from his hands. The fact that Cassandra seems as eager as Brown to eat mollifies him somewhat. His sister does have a sense of taste and is usually a good judge of things.

"Try it," Brown says, her spoon hovering over her container and an intent look stealing over her face that's mirrored by Cassandra. They both turn to him and watch as he scoops up a bit of the light purple cream. "You'll see why you need to make sex noises to describe this stuff."

Damian rolls his eyes and eats the bite. The cold bites sharply into his tongue, and it's quickly followed by an onslaught of _taste_. Tart and creamy with enough sweetness to make it more than just palatable. It is easily the best frozen treat he has ever tried before.

Damian, to his own horror, _moans_.

Brown cackles and digs into her marshmallow death. "I knew you'd understand."


	41. Your ability to whip out your dick and take a pic anytime I text you is startling.

(303): Your ability to whip out your dick and take a pic anytime I text you is startling.

~

Roy grins and Tim knew that this would only encourage the jackass. Tim bites back a smile as he continues, "Batgirl thought so too after she confiscated my phone."

"Wait, what?" Roy look remarkably like a cat thrown into water. Startled and verging on anger. "You let _Batgirl_ see my dick?!"

" _You_ let her see your dick," Tim snaps back with a smug grin. "What made you think my cellphone isn't monitored? Have you met anyone who works in Gotham? We're a paranoid group, Arsenal. Privacy means nothing to us."

"Are you saying Batman's seen my dick too?" Roy asks after a horrified pause. The look on his face is indescribable. Equal parts horror and even more horror.

"Yes," Tim says just to see the color drain from his face. "But he isn't the one you should be worried about. I'd personally be more wary if what Nightwing is going to do with the copies."

The possibilities are endless knowing Dick and his oddly entwined sense of humor and vengeance. Tim saw him talking to Red Hood with those pictures, so the wild card factor is multiplied by Jason now. He's kind enough not to mention that last bit to Roy. He already looks close to hyperventilating as it is.

"Just thought I'd pass BG's words on," Tim reaches out and leaves a friendly punch on Roy's shoulder. Like they were talking about their nonexistent plans for the weekend and not the impending mental scaring of Roy. "Also, give you a heads up that you might want to stop doing that from now on."

The noise Roy makes as Tim walks away is well worth the 'concerned' talks he got from the family.


	42. I'm hoping you were seen by someone holding a frozen turkey at 230 in the morning

(226): I'm hoping you were seen by someone holding a frozen turkey at 230 in the morning

~

"Why?" Jason eventually asks as he finally gets the freezer door to close over the big ass turkey. Freezer space hadn't been high on his list of priorities when he first got this place so it's a minor miracle that the thing fits. Sure, it's a bad fit but as long as the damn thing doesn't accidentally defrost overnight he's going to count it as a win. "I get that you think this shit is funny, but I don't get _why_."

"Because it's not a Butterball, it's an entire _feathered_ bird," Dick's voice is tiny and far away sounding on the speaker phone because the man can't choose a good phone on his own if his life depended on it. "And because I slipped on turkey poop this morning."

"What?" Jason turns to stare at his phone before his brain clicks over. "Alfred hasn't gotten rid of that damn turkey Damian saved from Thanksgiving yet?"

"I'm not saying this," Dick continues, blithely ignoring Jason's question, "but you do have a beautiful opportunity here that I'd hate to see go to waste. Just think about it, Jay."

Jason translates that into normal-asshole-Grayson speech and let's out a low whistle. "And _how_ many times have you slipped on turkey shit exactly?"

"Once is too many," Duck replies but Jason knows the man and his soft spot for Bruce's demonic spawn. Knows how much he coddles the boy and tries to reeducate him into normal society. To his credit, it appears to be working, but even he has his limits. 

"Every day for the last week," Jason guesses as he thinks about it. A plan already forming. Simple and easy. Especially since he's sure he'll have Alfred on his side for it. 

Dick makes a noise that's either frustrated or irritated. Maybe both. " _Twice_ a day at the least. That turkey is an eating and pooping machine!"

"That's why we tend to eat them," Jason grins and pats the fridge once before reaching for his phone. "Fine, lemme get some sleep first before Alfred comes for me."

"You want to be driven up here?"

"No, I want to eat feathers while I try to figure out how to drive a bike and hold onto a frozen turkey," Jason hovers his thumb over the end call button. "Get some sleep yourself, and wear some fucking shoes outside for once. It's the middle of winter!"

"Never!" Dick declares before the line cuts out. 

"And they say I'm the crazy one," Jason mutters as he goes to crash.


	43. Today is an "outside sex" kind of day.

(703): Today is an "outside sex" kind of day.

~

Tim turns to look out the window and confirms that it still looks like the sky is trying to smother Gotham under a small ocean. He types a question mark into his phone and sends it, waits a few seconds before sending three more in a row, and then types _Should I be concerned?_

_dumbass not me other people_

Tim's is both relieved and concerned anyway when Steph's text comes in. She's typing still so he waits for whatever else she's going to say. 

_caught five so far guess they like the "exotic" sex acts or smthng_

People are idiots. There's going to be an uptick in pneumonia cases after this week is over. Which is a thought that leads perfect into his response back. 

_Ok, but why are you patrolling? B isn't out because he almost broke his neck sliding off a roof last night._

_I'm not patrolling just getting dinner_

"Seriously?" Tim grimaces in disgust but isn't really all that surprised. "Alley sex isn't gross enough?"

_gtg see another couple in danger of drowning fml_

Idiots. Tim sighs and goes back to his files. The whole world is filled with them. He wonders why he tries to save them sometimes.


	44. after she rolled over and said 'i'm so glad you're like my gay best friend, love you' then left. did i just get friendzoned AFTER sex??

(+44): after she rolled over and said 'i'm so glad you're like my gay best friend, love you' then left. did i just get friendzoned AFTER sex??

~

"So," Tim squints into the fridge and debates whether or not a container is going moldy or if blue was its natural state. "You lead them around by their balls, have your way with them, and _then_ pull out the mindfuck card?"

"Yes," Stephanie says as she scrapes down the sides of an already empty yoghurt container, eying the open door over his shoulder with unhidden hunger. "I like to keep them guessing."

"Am I the only boyfriend you've had that you never felt compelled to mess with?" Tim fishes out another banana cup and tosses it back. Steph snatches it out of the air and greedily tears into it.

"Second actually, but the first one was such a douche I was still in shock when we dated," Steph makes a pleased noise as she stuffs her mouth full of yoghurt, making herself look like a rabid squirrel. Tim itches to take a picture of it as he pulls out an apple, but he also likes having his balls attached to his body naturally and not by stitches. "You got lucky, boyfriend."

"I'll offer up the appropriate sacrifice in thanks later," Tim says as he bites into the apple. Juice runs down his chin despite his best efforts to suck it all up. "Are you going to sleep with him again?"

"Yes," Steph says with a grin that's every bit as evil as she means it to be. " _After_ I cry on his shoulder about how all the good men left in the world are taken or gay."

"As a man, I feel like I should be very offended by all this evil plotting," Tim feels compelled to point out. Idly and with no intention of stopping her, ever. 

"Oh, don't worry," Steph waves her spoon in the air negligently enough to drop a bit of slightly yellow goo on Tim's table. "They're all self proclaimed 'nice guys.' They _deserve_ what I do to them."

"Well, carry on then," Tim says because he's sat through more than his fair share of rants on the topic. He agrees, but he doesn't really want to hear it all over again. He has no doubts that Steph is lying or mistaken. She takes very particular care when playing these kinds of games, and making sure she's targeting the right people is high on her list of priorities. "Maybe you should ask him to approve some date clothes for you before that though, and go on about how perfect the guy you're going to meet is."

"Oh! That's a great idea.," Steph's eyes light up in utter glee. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Besides your endless supply of yoghurt."

"Does it count when you're the one stocking my fridge?" Tim asks, genuinely curious because he likes the stuff, but not enough to dedicate an entire shelf to it.

"It counts because you don't ever actually stop me," Steph replies as she tosses her empty containers in the trash Tim really needs to throw away now. Preferably before it gains intelligence. "Though maybe it shouldn't since I'm the only one that uses your fridge even thought you _live_ here."

"Why would I try to cook things for myself when I have a nice list of people who can do it for me on speed dial?" Tim asks, and he can feel Alfred tensing all the way across the city. The older man no doubt sensing something terribly wrong but unable to pin it down. "So, do you want me to come pick you up for your 'date' after you've got an approved outfit? I can do playboy, douchebag, or prep. Your choice."

Steph _cackles_ and her grin is utterly vicious, "Timmy, you're the very best. Don't even let anyone tell you differently."


	45. SINCE WHEN WAS USING A FROZEN WATER BOTTLE ATTACHED TO A ROPE AS A THROWING WEAPON A GOOD IDEA??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YJ cartoon universe again.

(615): SINCE WHEN WAS USING A FROZEN WATER BOTTLE ATTACHED TO A ROPE AS A THROWING WEAPON A GOOD IDEA??

~

"I thought is was the best use of resources we had on hand given our limited budget at the moment," Tim says and the honestly bewildered note in his voice makes Dick want pat his precious little head and hold him up to Bruce just to show him what he's wrought on this world. Simultaneously. 

"Kid Flash broke an arm," he says instead. 

"It healed," Tim says, a little defensive now. 

"Blue Beetle screams when something flashes through the air," Dick adds and doesn't mention what high pitched whistling now does to the poor kid because there's only so much coddling he can stand to do with the team. 

"He'll get over it?" Tim's wincing now and he isn't even believing his own lies anymore. 

"Robin," Dick sighs and presses against the bridge of his nose. A move he's picked up from Alfred, and it's moments like this that make him understand the why of him so much. "In what universe was it ok to give a frozen projectile to Beast Boy and say, 'Go wild'?"

Tim doesn't say anything for several long minutes. When he smiles it's small and barely there. Like it gets when he's about to make a geeky joke no one else ever gets. "Well it would've been alright if anyone on the team could learn to dodge."

Dick sighs and thinks that at least Black Canary earns her pay around here.


	46. Me and Jason had to grab your legs and arms and drag you in the house. You kept screaming "leave me for dead"

(909): Me and Jason had to grab your legs and arms and drag you in the house. You kept screaming "leave me for dead"

~

"I have no recollection of these events you're speaking about," Tim pauses and carefully rolls onto his side. The move is painful but alleviates some of the nausea. "Or any proof other than your word that last night even happened. Which, for the record, means last night didn't exist."

"You are weirdly coherent when hungover," Steph says and the mattress sinks under her weight. She crawls up and settles against his back. One arm draped over him and her chin settled comfortably in the dip of his shoulder. She's warm and comfortable which goes a long way to easing the rest of the sick feeling in his stomach. "And if it's independent verification you want, I'm going to point out that you're at the manor and last night was paparazzi Friday."

"A Wayne being drunk doesn't merit mention anymore," Tim says because even with his relatively wholesome PR image, he's been drunk in public enough for the novelty to have worn off. Besides, it was Friday. Bruce's designated day for giving the papers a scandal or four to talk about for the week. "I doubt any of them paid any attention to me when Selina came out."

"Yes and no," Steph says. Her voice is pitched perfectly enough to not upset his fragile existence --because Stephanie is perfection incarnate when it comes to hangovers-- but filled with amusement. "Most of them didn't even look at you, but some of them are apparently bored of Brucie and his girls."

"Oh god, what?" Tim groans and turns his head into his pillow. It's hard to breath but going by Steph's glee Tim isn't going to care about breathing much soon. "What are they onto now?"

"Tam said some things a few years ago, and they've resurfaced completely out of context," Steph says and tightens her arm around him in a half-hug. "Combined with the fact you haven't started dating again...."

"Just tell me," Tim knows there's a lot that can be said about him not jumping into another relationship. Especially since Tam has moved on herself. He's been meaning to do something about that to prevent the kind of stories no doubt going around now, but something had always come up. "I'm too hungover for the guesswork."

"No you're not," she snorts, and is right.

"Fine, I'm just being lazy," Tim rolls back enough to push her under some if his weight but stops when his stomach tightens in warning.

"It doesn't help that you all haven't come up with a good story for Jason being here either," Steph rolls him back onto his side and scoots closer. Actually spooning him this time as she rubs his back until the urge to run to the bathroom passes. "Of course they're going to start making up their own stories."

The dots really do connect themselves. Tim groans because there's also a few points that Steph has failed to make but Tim knows are there because it's Jason. And Jason is always predictable. "He said some thing didn't he? Loud enough to reach the vultures. No. Loud enough to be recorded."

Because this is his life, really, and it's not complete until the press is telling him who he's dating.

"They think he's a sweet and caring boyfriend," Steph says soothingly. Over her laughter.

"Was he drunk?" Tim asks because kind words only come out of Jason's mouth after he's drunk a few people under the table.

"Hey, he was mobile. That's all I was looking for when I asked for help dragging your wasted butt inside," a confession without admitting anything. Steph is absurdly good at those. "He did tuck you in though before passing out in the kitchen. So he gets points for follow through."

"Not the point," Tim says and then promptly gives up. It's still too early and his head is too full of the evils of alcohol. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Sure," Steph's laughing again but there's a blanket being pulled over Tim's shoulder and she's not getting up. "Just wanted to give you a heads up. Also, wanted to be sure you were still breathing that was a lot if tequila."

"Tequila is evil," Tim closes his eyes, pushed the press out of his mind, and let's Steph's breathing --interrupted by giggles-- lull him back to sleep for another few hours.


	47. Hi please disregard the last text and if you'd like our entire interaction

(410): Hi please disregard the last text and if you'd like our entire interaction  
(571): Done

~

"This is why we're friends," Tim says when the line connects. Kon can almost smell the alcohol the other man is sweating out just by hearing his voice. He's never been more thankful that it's only his ears that are jacked up to super levels before.

"Cassie would hold it over my head for all of eternity, and Bart would want to _discuss_ it," there's no doubt from Tim's voice which one of those two things he considers the worst outcome. "But you? You just let it all go."

There's a little sing-sing quality that leads Kon to believe Tim's not entirely sober just yet. Kon grins and tells the lie his friend wants to hear right now. "Tim, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Best. Friend. Ever," Tim declares before hanging up.

Kon stretches out on his bed and decides to cement his status as BFF later by dropping by Gotham with aspirin, water, and some cooking from Ma Kent. He'll consider keeping his end of the deal up only when Tim's sober enough to fully appreciate the smack down material Kon now has possession of.


	48. Rule 1: If any of us dies on a trip, the other two have to 'Weekend at Bernies' the shit outta that corpse...

(519): Rule 1: If any of us dies on a trip, the other two have to 'Weekend at Bernies' the shit outta that corpse...

~

Tim goes silent and Kon has enough time to wonder why before he's getting kicked in the head at super speed. It doesn't hurt but it's not fun getting kicked thirty or forty times before he can blink.

"Uh, I mean," Kon rubs his head as Bart goes still long enough to Glare at him. Capital letter and all.

He's still getting used to the fact that Bart tends to catch emotional cues quicker than Kon now. Even after the past few years it still catches him off guard though he really should've caught this one sooner, because Tim kinda already did that. In a crazy and really unhealthy way that they all try to avoid talking about.

Bart's miming choking him from behind Tim right now and Kon doesn't know how to backpedal from this gracefully. He doesn't think he's shoved his foot this far in his mouth in a while. "Um."

"It's ok," Tim smiles slight and wry as he reaches back and grabs one of Bart's arms. Without looking. "I mean it really didn't work that well the first time I tried, but if one of you is around to help I'm sure it'll go better."

It's a weak, awful joke that completely blows wide of the mark Kon was trying to hit with his original joke. But it's a joke and that's probably the most positive thing he's said about that period of time. Bart stares at him over Tim's shoulder in shock and Kon can't help it.

He starts to laugh. Low and helpless and maybe it's a little fucked up, but Tim's grinning now too. Losing that punched in the gut look as he starts to chuckle too. Bart joins in eventually and they're a pile of laughing loons when Cassie finds them.


	49. We don't have the same problems as normal people do we?

(803): We don't have the same problems as normal people do we?

~

"We don't know normal people," Steph says. "So how would you know?"

Point. Tim's not going to give it to her though. He has a point he's trying to address here! "I know because I spend a great deal of my time _watching_ normal people, and _we_ don't have the same problems as them."

"Pretty sure normal people would think that's creepy," Steph muses as she kicks her feet out over the ledge they're sitting on. "Not just standard procedure."

"I think you've just proven my point," Tim says and shifts so he's more comfortable in his lean against the roof wall. Chest height which is a nice change from most buildings where it's usually about knee high. Sure, shorter walls makes roof jumps easier but they're just not comfortable on long stake outs.

"I didn't know you had one," Steph lies breezily.

"I do," Tim refuses to be deterred here though. "My point is that normal people don't have to have a secret vigilante escort on a movie date in case the person who asked them out turns out to be some sort of super villain or undercover assassin."

"At a Disney movie no less," Steph says and he doesn't need to look away from the movie theater to see her smirk.

"Eh, it's not half bad," Dick's voice comes through the comm and he's eating popcorn. How Nightwing got popcorn in his perch inside the movie theater is not something Tim's going to think about too much. "Frozen is still going to be the best movie of the season though."

"How's little Romeo doing in there?" Steph asks for her fifteen minute update.

"He might be asleep," Dick replies with an aggrieved sigh. "I lost count of how many times he's rolled his eyes. His date's too into the movie though. I don't think she's actually noticed."

"Why'd he even say yes if he doesn't want to be here?" Steph asks and her nose wrinkles in the way it does when she's contemplating reading someone the riot act. The _non_ violent one.

"He's proving a point," Tim says and stifles a yawn. He could be sleeping right now. "To someone. Probably at school, the other students are probably trying to find something to use against him again."

Steph snorts and Tim can practically feel Dick's grimace. Kids will be kids, but they all know how badly their trying to pick on and/or tease Damian usually ends.

"Back to big brother escorts," Dick sighs.

"You know he hates it when you guys do that," Steph says after a harsh bark of laughter.

"Fair enough. I hate being called in because he's broken someone's nose," Dick responds, and it is a good point. Dick's the one the schools call because no one ever wants to deal with Brucie when it comes to discipline, and they still have bad memories of Tim from his time there.

"Normal people don't have these problems," Tim says to Steph and waves a hand at the street below them. "Normal people would be worried about him knocking the girl up."

"Well, good thing we're not normal," Steph swings enough that she can aim a lazy kick at him, and it's a good point of her own.


	50. Lemme put it this way babe, at point you were naked in Target.

(727): Lemme put it this way babe, at point you were naked in Target.  
(813): Where were you?  
(727): Laughing

~

"I swear," Tim groans from his rather comfortable gargoyle hunch over the toilet, "if there's video of that _anywhere_ I will end you."

Jason laughs because he's a terrible person and Tim really doesn't know why he's dating the asshole. "Sure you will, babe."

"End you, Todd," Tim repeats firmly because yelling right now is going to trigger more throwing up, and while that will only do him good in the long run his stomach and chest are starting to hurt. He wants to rest the muscles there some before he finishes expelling all the toxic alcohol in his stomach. "Ending someone is very different from killing them. They live for one."

"A very distinct and crucial difference," Jason says as he comes in with the smirk that makes Bruce brace himself on a completely unconscious reflex these days. He's also carrying a bottle of blue Gatorade and Tim feels immediately more forgiving. Especially when he presses the chilled bottle to the back of his neck.

"It is," Tim's eyes slide shut and the cold settles something in his stomach. "More life ruining, less life ending."

"Task accomplished," Tim can't see him right now but the tone of his voice lets him know Jason's wearing that incredibly doofy smile the whole family never tells him about because then he'd never smile like it again. "You've already ruined me for life."

"Stop that, we have _rules_ , Jason," Tim groans but doesn't pull away from the bottle or the radiating warmth of Jason's body crouched down behind him. "No romantic stuff while I'm feeling sick or you've been an asshole."

Lips smack against his forehead with a loud and obnoxious noise and Jason's laughing again. "Roger that freak-boy. Now take this bottle and finish up in here. I've got to follow up with Babs on the security footage from the store."

"Hate you so much," Tim groans as he clutches the bottle when Jason runs out on him. Still laughing. "You're an asshole!"


	51. He told me I was "too flexible." Excuse me?

(986): He told me I was "too flexible." Excuse me?

~

"How can that even be a thing? Too flexible is like having too much," Dick pauses clearly stumped and looks around the kitchen before finding inspiration, "bacon! Like having too much bacon!"

Tim doesn't really get it because bacon is a heart attack in conveniently sized meat form. Especially the way most people eat it. Cass, thankfully, pulls up the slack for him by intoning, "There can never be too much bacon."

"Exactly! He'll never get himself laid with that kind of attitude," Dick looks and sounds vindicated as he sits back on his stool and crosses his arms over his chest. He's very pleased with the way this conversation has gone and Tim hates to end it-

Well, that's a lie Tim doesn't hate to end it.

"But you weren't even interested in him," Tim points out because truth and logic demand to be acknowledged in his life. "You were pumping him for information about the drugs. Not looking to hook up."

"At the time, no, and now I'll know who to avoid later too," Dick responds and Cass giggles at the exaggerated eyebrow wriggle he does as he leers at Tim.

"Right," Tim sighs and let's the matter go. Dick's not half the manwhore he likes people to think he is. Sure, he likes sex and is very capable of keeping multiple casual relationships going, but most of the rumors of who he's slept with are pretty exaggerated. "Whatever you say Dick."

"Damn right," Dick lets the leer go and grins. Tim still doesn't know why Dick goes along with the assumptions about him and Dick's unlikely to share the reasons on his own. He just shakes his head and let's Dick's words fill the kitchen as Alfred adds more bacon to the pan he has on the stove.


	52. Dude, i just watched a drag queen dropkick a motherfucker. this is a good night.

(636): Dude, i just watched a drag queen dropkick a motherfucker. this is a good night.

~

"Did her hair stay perfect?" Steph asks because she's taking her hourly patrol break and is using it to rip the tangles out of her hair. Flying through the air over Gotham is something she will never trade but the tangles it makes in her hair can't be prevented by any conditioner known to man. So she's feeling just a little bit bitter right now.

"You know it did," Red Hood's voice is something she's becoming more familiar with hearing over the comms. Not to pass along anything important because Jason is still Jason but to enliven their night patrols with random observations and philosophical questions that make B do that thing where he is pointedly not sighing even though they all know he wants to. "And so did her makeup and clothes. Not one damn wrinkle as she kicked the fucker's ass right out of the area."

Jason's voice is gleeful and Steph grins because she can picture it now despite the man not giving any other information. She knows enough about him to infer that the man had probably made some homophobic remark in hearing distance of the people waiting to get into the club. Either repeatedly or annoyingly enough to get an actual physical response. All of which Jason would have watched with a demented grin and probably more than a few rounds of cackling depending on how long the beat down took place. 

Steph can't blame him for that. She'd have done the same because it's always funny when civilians decide they're not putting up with someone else's shitty views with a pointed ass kicking.

The comb snags on a nasty rat's nest of tangles and Steph grimaces as she backs off and tries attacking it from the bottom. She has yet to find a collapsible brush that will both fit in her compartments and is still strong enough to actually do some good. Short of seeding the city with secret caches of brushes her options are pretty limited. 

"Ask for her hair secrets," Steph grunts as she gets impatient and just yanks the comb through half of it. The hair is kinked now and more than a few strands come out with it but she's getting to the end of her break and needs to get moving again. "And if hairspray or shellac isn't involved let me know."

Jason makes a far too amused noise that translates well through the comms now that he's taking the communicators Babs has been offering him. Far better than the ones he'd had before. Steph flips her hair back and puts the comb away as she rolls up into a full body stretch. Her muscles are still warm and loose, she hasn't stopped long enough for them to tighten up and start to hurt yet. 

Bat Girl takes to the night again and her hair streams out behind her like a blonde comet tail. Nice and elegant looking from afar but a tangled nest as soon as she stops moving and is seen up close. Lacking any other option, Steph just doesn't stop moving and makes sure anyone who's close enough to see is more concerned with her fist than her hair.


	53. I think I accidentally invented a religion.

(715): I think I accidentally invented a religion.

~

"If it's the one dedicated to your ass you're way to late to be just noticing it now," Roy says into the phone as he contemplates the tricky process of moving Lian from the couch she passed out on and into her bed. An easy task but the trick is in not waking her during the move and that's not something he has totally mastered even after all these years of doing it.

"I do know about that," Dick says exacerbated and Roy doesn't know if he's hearing the man sigh of if Dick's calling him mid patrol again. Either one is equally likely. "And no, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" Roy asks obligingly as he starts to pick toys and clothing off of his daughter. He might have to clear a path in her room while he's at it so he doesn't trip when carrying her.

"I don't know," Dick almost wails and Roy takes a few steps back from Lian as he dials down the volume on his phone. "There's just all these people who keep coming up to me and saying weird shit. Strangers, Roy! I've never seen these people before and they're not being paid to do this. I've already checked."

"Ok," and if Dick's checked then that means Batman has checked which officially elevates this to something more than just the random shit that happens to Dick. "What do they say?"

"They thank me for being the way," Dick says and there's an odd thumbing noise that Roy eventually places as boots hitting flesh. Or the bark of trees, but the flesh thing is far more likely given Dick's in Gotham. If trees were being involved Dick would be more concerned with Ivy than talking. "That they understand the infinite now and it's thanks to me."

Not the weirdest thing Roy's heard, but it's also not the usual crazy stuff he's used to hearing from Dick. "Alright," he drawls out and finishes kicking a few stuffed animals under Lian's bed. He goes back out into the hallway and leans against a wall. "You sure someone's not messing with you? You're family has a really weird sense of humor."

"It's not their turn for retaliation," Dick says easily and Roy doesn't ask about that. He tried to understand the dynamic there once and he's regretted the attempt ever since.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Roy scratches the back of his neck as he winds the call up. "Until they start trying to sacrifice you I don't think there's much you can do."

"They're not that radical," Dick says sullenly but they both know he's silently adding on a 'Yet' at the end because it's only a matter of time before sacrificial attempts get thrown into this mix.

"Yeah, yeah," Roy grins as he slowly walks into the living room and start to turn lights off. "Just finish your patrol and don't let them tempt you onto any altars with redheads."

Dick scoffs, but there's a thread of amusement in it as he hangs up. Roy gives him three more weeks before this whole thing gets straightened out. In the usual bloody and violent spectacle.


	54. Take your time. I'm mowing the lawn. In the dark. Drunk.

(716): Take your time. I'm mowing the lawn. In the dark. Drunk.

~

"And how much of it are you planning to mow?" Tim asks as he watches Dick roll out a gas powered push mower that he's honestly surprised is even on the grounds. Alfred hires a lawn company to take care of it and they always bring their own heavy duty equipment.

"All of it," Dick slurs just a little as he lists to the left when he bends down to open the gas tank up. He gets the lid off no problem but getting the yellow nozzle of the gas can in it is taking a bit more effort. 

Tim watches in morbid fascination as Dick closes one eyes and gets it close enough that only a small bit of gas splashes out onto the outer shell of the mower. He wonders if --and when-- he should intervene in this. Dick tends to get ideas in his head when drunk and trying to stop him from acting on those ideas is almost impossible. It's usually easier to just let him get started on it then derail him with something shiny just before he hurts himself.

"Ok," Tim agrees easily and pulls out his phone to text Jason or Steph. Whoever is closest. "So, why are you mowing anyway?"

"Because," Dick concentrates hard on getting the cap back on and grins in triumph when it's done. "Because the grass is long, Timmy. You mow when the grass is long."

Dick stands up and pats Tim's head with a hand that smells overwhelmingly of gasoline and beer. 

"Right," Tim grimaces and steps back. Fingers flying over his screen as he sends a message off to Steph. Jason is closer to the manor, but also more likely to kick back and watch Dick fight the lawnmower. With a video camera, and Tim thinks he'd rather get Dick inside before he can figure out how to get the mower started.


	55. Someone somewhere has a picture of me vomiting in a bus stop trash can while a drag queen held my hair for me.

(940): Someone somewhere has a picture of me vomiting in a bus stop trash can while a drag queen held my hair for me.  
(1-940): Pride claims another victim

~

"It was a Japanese tourist," Steph offers helpfully. "Probably all over Japan now."

"I do not want to hear that," Tim groans and tries to hide under his couch cushions again. An impossibility because Tim, for some strange reason, got the kind of couch that doesn't have removable cushions. Probably so he couldn't hide under them instead of going into work. "Nothing ever stays in Japan. Japan is the physical manifestation of the internet. Anything all over in that country is all over the internet and my life is ruined."

"Well, maybe he was a Chinese tourist," he wasn't but Steph offers the comforting lie up anyway as she rubs Tim's back. He stretches under her with a plaintive noise like a grumpy cat. "At least it's not photos of you making out with someone?"

"I'd prefer it if they were," Tim says stubbornly still stuck on the point. He cracks one eye open to glare at her and Steph wants to coo at him for it. He looks adorable for being so hungover. "Do you know how much flak I'm going to get for not being able to hold my liquor?"

"You mixed tequila, Tim," Steph settles into the curve of his spine as Tim rolls over to smash his face against the back of the couch. "I don't think anyone's going to be able to blame you for puking up your guts on this occasion."

"Yes they will," Tim's voice is muffled and pained. "You don't know how they get, Steph. Dick will be annoyingly 'helpful,'" Tim flings one arm up to do airquotes with only one hand, "and try to train me out of it. Jason will not shut up about it. Ever. And I'll have to pay someone to wipe the memory out of his brain after destroying all the evidence just to get some peace over it."

"Until one of them gets terribly drunk and does something even stupider," Steph points out because she knows the guys and she's been around long enough to know how this dance goes. "At which point you will be unbearably smug and hint about all the blackmail you have saved up and stored as secret locations all around the world."

"Well, yes," Tim huffs out and nudges her with his elbow. "Stop being reasonable."

"Oh, sorry," Steph grins even wider and slumps backward over Tim. Letting her hand keep up a vague patting against his shoulder. "I'll save that for when you're more sober and just start agreeing that you're life is ruined and in ashes right now. That better?"

"Much," Tim says with a pleased hum.

Her friends were unbelievably ridiculous at times, but she keeps grinning as Tim keeps on bitching.


	56. I'm pretty sure that's why we have such good sex because we are secretly trying to kill each other

(530): I'm pretty sure that's why we have such good sex because we are secretly trying to kill each other

~

"Gee, I love you too," Jason says as he flops back down onto the bed. His boxers itch against his skin. Sticking on certain spots as he kicks his way under the sheets that feel too heavy right now but will be perfect later when he's cooled off some.

"I'm just saying," Tim has no problem getting under the sheets and the small throw blanket he caries around the apartment with him like a shield against the world in the morning. "I get more hurt from this than I do on most patrols."

Which is the truth. Jason can feel the sting in his back from the nails Tim really needs to trim, and the twinge of two brand new bite marks on the back of his shoulder. Which will purple up nicely to join the _four_ other marks that Dick's been giving him so much shit over lately.

Tim's got his own array of bruises and scrapes too. He's heard Stephanie ribbing him hard on those a few nights back. An event that had made him really wonder how and why Batgirl got a good look at those areas. The two of them are disturbingly close for purported exes.

"It's not that bad," Jason purposely ignores the yellowing hickies and bruises he left behind after catching the tail end of Tim's conversation with Steph. He'd been deliberately marking Tim up good that night. Most nights they don't leave as much on each other. "You like wearing turtlenecks anyway."

"Not the point," Tim shoves his ice cold feet up against Jason's ass and he grunts but doesn't move away. Retreat is impossible and he's learned to just accept it or risk being woken up out of a deep sleep by ice cold feet. "I thought we got though our respective issues, but ti's clear we've just been taking out in sex."

It's amazing how Tim can manage to make 'our' sound like 'your' without changing the tone of his voice by using his eyebrows only. "I'm still not seeing a problem though. You sure as hell weren't complaining five minutes ago."

"No, but I'm going to remind you about this the next time you ask me to try something new," Tim reaches back and hits the controller he has velcroed to the side of the headboard. The lights cut out and Jason blesses Tim's obsession with blackout curtains once more. The sun is rising outside but inside it's pitch black.

"So I'm guessing I should return your birthday present?" Jason asks as Tim curls up into his side.

"I never said that," Tim says after a long beat that lets Jason know the little snoop knows what Jason got him already.

"Go the fuck to sleep," Jason grumbles even as his mouth twists up into a grin.


	57. I never thought I would have to put a band-aid on my penis.

(325): I never thought I would have to put a band-aid on my penis.

~

Roy blames Dick for the fact that he can't use any other word than penis. Dick is out for so very many reasons that the asshole likes to exploit whenever someone slips up around him, and cock got shot down in an unfortunate incident six years that still makes Roy have PTSDesque flashbacks.

"Really?" Dick asks after a moment of looking puzzled. _Honestly_ puzzled and Roy wonders at the choices he's made in life that would make Dick think this is something Roy has either done or expected to do.

"Yes," Roy grunts as he carefully pulls out one of those no pain bandaids he gets for Lian. The ones that never seem to stay on no matter how little she moves, but looks like it will stick _really_ well to the very delicate skin of his very delicate penis. "Keeping sharp things away from my penis has actually been one of my top priorities in life, Dick."

Dick looks conflicted and Roy knows why. It's because his best friend lives up to his name in every sense of the word, and there are too many things he wants to say in response. Roy can imagine everything he wants to say without having to think too hard. Roy peels off the backing of the neon pink bandaid and looks down at the adhesive backing with genuine misgiving. He's going to regret this later. He just knows it. Unfortunately, like most things he knows he's going to regret later, Roy is going to go through with it despite that knowledge.

"I'm going in," Roy mutters as he turns his back on Dick and carefully pulls back the top of his boxers before pulling out the paper towels he's been using to stop the blood from seeping out too much. The thin slice is still bleeding and Roy carefully lays the bandage down wondering why shit like this always happens to him.

"Four hundred thirty six," Dick says and Roy can hear the horror lacing through the humor in his voice as he adds one more to his count of something. Probably the number of times Roy's done something stupid. Hard telling though because Dick's got a dozen lists of things he's keeping count of for Roy. "Every time you say that one of us ends up needing medical attention. You really need to stop saying that phrase. I'm starting to develop a phobia of it which is kind of unfortunate because Jason's picked up on it."

Roy can see blood immediately start to seep into the pad of the bandaid and his penis itches under the adhesive as Roy pulls his boxers back into place. It's a temporary fix but that's all he needs right now. "Alright that'll do. Clown me."

Dick tosses over a bundle of unfortunately colored cloth that Roy slips on after only one more grimace and a sincere hope that Wally's done what he promised and confiscated anything capable of taking pictures. "The things I do for her."

"You love it," Dick says, not at all uncomfortable in his own clown suit, but he really wouldn't. Dick's used to wearing this kind of stuff. He grins as he pulls out the clown wig with a flourish. "Don't forget your nose."

"Yeah, yeah," Roy grunts as he pulls the wig on and looks distrustfully at the red rubber nose waiting for him. "Next year, I'm hiring an actual clown though."

"No you're not," Dick says and his pants jingle as he moves towards the door where they can hear the delighted shrieks of children hyped up on birthday cake and cheap lootbag toys. "You know with our luck you'd hire the one clown that makes all those horror movies about them valid."

Which is true, but he can dream about not having to do this himself. Why Lian has to want something so mundane when she can literally have Superman show up at her birthday is mystifying. 

"Alright," Roy grumbles as he pinches the plasticy smelling nose on, "let's do this."

"Six hundred fourteen," Dick says as he heads out the door and the shrieks rise in volume. Along with the laughter of adults.


	58. FUCK and YOU. times 10. To infinity and beyond. You bastard. Worst. Cockblock. Ever. I'm going to nail your sister.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (403): FUCK and YOU. times 10. To infinity and beyond. You bastard. Worst. Cockblock. Ever. I'm going to nail your sister.

"Do you really think she'd fall for a revenge lay?" Tim asks, genuinely curious to hear Kon's answer. "Cass thinks you're cute but not _that_ cute."

Kon makes an interestingly strangled noise. Part rage, part frustration, and all despair. "When did you two talk about me?!"

"We talk about you all the time. Just not out loud so you can hear it," Tim says with a smirk because Cass' shorthand is easy to pick up after a while and it's something the whole family exploits. Especially when talking about Supers. "So yeah, that plan of yours isn't going to work. What was plan B for getting back at me?"

Kon will thank him later when the alien woman turns out to be evil, because that _always_ happens, but for the moment Tim lets himself be amused by Kon's useless anger. It's always funny listening to him try to curse without letting Ma Kent overhear him.


	59. Hahahaha yep. You were picking up the credit card machine and singing to it in Spanish.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (954): Hahahaha yep. You were picking up the credit card machine and singing to it in Spanish.

"But I don't know Spanish," Kon says after a moment of thought.

"Apparently you do when you're drunk," Bart says as the game loads the next map. "Jaime was impressed."

"I was impressed someone that drunk could sound so sober," Jaime corrects before picking up a controller. "Your pronunciation sucked."

"Yeah, but," Kon takes a moment to look away from the screen to look at Jaime. He'll probably get shot in the head immediately upon spawning by Tim, but that's a given no matter where his eyes are. "I was speaking real Spanish? Like you could understand it and all?"

"Barely but yeah," Jaime smirks at him and Kon looks back at the screen in time to see his avatar fall. Distantly he can hear Tim laughing. "You're a regular Dora the Explorer man. Maybe you should stop watching kid's cartoons so much."

"We're moving him up the Sesame Street next," Bart says. Somewhat seriously though he's wearing the asshole smirk they both learned from Tim. "Maybe Telemundo after that if he does well."

"You guys are assholes," Kon says as they both laugh too hard to dodge Tim, or maybe it's Rose. It's hard to tell when everyone's is dying. "You all suck. So much."


	60. Cause I'll toss Tabasco sauce in his eyes and yell "Cobra attack" and walk away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else remember Danny Temple? Did he exist after those issues in Robin?

(954): Cause I'll toss Tabasco sauce in his eyes and yell "Cobra attack" and walk away

~

It doesn't happen often, but occasionally Tim will meet up with someone he went to school with and they'll go out for lunch or coffee. A sort of school reunion to catch up on the things they have or haven't done. An hour or so of time where Tim usually has to scramble to remember what lies he'd been using at the time. It's not often where he doesn't have to reach for the old lies.

"You can't just do that Danny," Tim groans and wonders why he's doing this again. It isn't really a high school reunion because it's just the two of them, and they hadn't even been roommates all that long. Danny's also as likely to have graduated from a high school as Tim.

Tim doubts that Kobra owns any sort of school that does anything but teach blood magic or assassination.

"Why not?" Danny spins the bottle he's holding with a slight grin. There's a bit of grace to that movement that Tim doesn't remember from before. He changes his mind on the other man going to some sort of school. It's becoming more obvious he had stuck with the organization as more than just a potential leader. "It's basically pepper spray in a more solid form. You can't seriously be objecting to nonlethal measures now."

"I'm not," Tim says after taking a large bite from one of the tacos that came with his order. It's bland but he doesn't feel like trying to pry the hot sauce away from Danny just yet. "I'm just saying you can't throw hot sauce at someone for staring."

"Why not?" Danny repeats but puts the bottle down to work on the monstrous burrito he'd ordered. "Staring is rude, you know?"

"To be fair," Tim takes the chance to snatch the bottle up and use it, "you're dressed in neon green and orange."

With a hood and cape, and the very distinctive markings of the Kobra organization all over. Not that Tim expects a waiter at a really sub-par Mexican joint to recognize the markings for what they are. It is Gotham though, so Tim's prepared to be wrong.

"If he's staring at anyone it's you," Danny waves to Tim, and he's laughing without laughing. "I thought the yellow, green, and red was eye searing, but this isn't really all that much better. You look like you should be an assassin. Or a supervillain."

"They know me here," Tim dismisses and taps at the extended bo-staff propped up against the table. "They're just not used to me bringing people to eat with me instead of beating them to the ground outside."

"I bet a little Tabasco would fix that," Danny mutters but lets the issue drop in favor of eating, and catching up. 

It's rather pleasant all things considered. Though Tim knows his list of friends turned to enemies have just grown by one. It was probably always inevitable.


	61. YOU WILL DIE AND I WILL CARVE 'I TOLD YOU SO' ON YOUR HEADSTONE

(703): YOU WILL DIE AND I WILL CARVE 'I TOLD YOU SO' ON YOUR HEADSTONE

~

"Fuck you. I'm not getting buried again," Jason snaps. "My ass is getting cremated and then shot into the sun."

"Yes, but you know you're getting a headstone regardless, right?" Tim says in that lofty tone of voice that's him being all pissy and prissy. "Because people need _something_ to dance over that is out of Alfred's sight."

"You a dancer, Red?" Jason looks down and does some quick calculations before he starts letting the rope out.

"I do a mean foxtrot," Tim says as he watches. Disdain pouring off every part of his body. "I don't even know why you're doing this. We have easier ways of jumping Jason. You know them, I know them. Why are you insisting on copying a movie?"

"Why? Why?! The question isn't _why_ , the question should be why the hell have I not done this before?" Jason ties off the excess rope he won't need and steps back from the edge. Knife in hand as he grins at Tim.

"The sequel wasn't even all that good," the little bitch blasphemes.

"That's a fucking lie," Jason points the knife at Tim before he tugs on the rope to make sure it's set. He takes a few steps back in preparation. He points the knife at Tim again. "Creative! It's a creative plan!"

"It's ridiculous!" Tim parrots back too quickly. "Probably based on some stupid shit ya saw in a movie!"

"I knew you watched that movie!" Jason exclaims.

"I never denied it," Tim says and crouches down on the edge of the building. "The sequel just isn't as good as the first movie. Now are you going to jump with your stupid rope or what?"

"Or what," Jason answers just to see Tim's face screw up in disgust before he runs forward and jumps. It's every bit as awesome and badass as he expects it to be when the rope snaps taught and swings him, boots first and guns out, into the bank of windows.


	62. Is it possible to be sexually attracted to someone's hair?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (757): Is it possible to be sexually attracted to someone's hair?

"Yes," Tim says at the same time that Kon says, "No."

"Wait, what?" Kon gives Tim a squinted side-eye as his face screws up. "Hair?"

"Yes," Tim says serenely without a single trace of shame. The heel of his boot taps an uneven rhythm against the wall where he's propped them. Kori will give him a lecture for it later but Bart knows she's out with the rest of the team for another hour or two. "You've never seen what some people can do with their hair."

"But, it's _hair_ ," Kon protests, pushing himself up to the couch enough to look more squarely at Tim. He waves one hand in the air like he's stirring something. "It doesn't matter how nice it looks, it's not going to stay that way. Especially not if you get lucky."

"It can," Tim says and there's a twist to his lips that is Tim when he’s decided he’s going to mess with them about something. Bart’s had time to measure the different angles that Tim’s lips twist to and then catalog them with what he does. "Just depends on what they use in it, or who they are."

"Fine, yes you can be sexually attracted to hair," Kon points out with an eyeroll before flopping back down. "But only because you've got a fetish."

"I don't have a fetish," Tim objects and tilts his head far enough on the arm of the chair to eye the popcorn bowl beside Bart on the coffee table.

"He doesn't," Bart agrees because fetish is a bit strong for Tim's fixation on people's hair. It’s something Bart noticed back when Tim was just Robin, and Bart was still trying to figure people out in the slow way they insisted was right. Sure, Tim puts a lot more points to hair than any of them when scoring attractiveness, but he can look past an unfortunate hairstyle. So he's not to the point of fetishizing it.

Yet, Bart reminds himself to add on, because people’s wants and needs change with age.

"Whatever," Kon flaps his hand in the air a bit before letting it flop down to lie on the ground. He’s going to get popcorn kernels smashed into his jeans, and Ma Kent will make that tsking noise that Kon grumbles about over the phone. Usually when he’s trying not to show that he’s actually happy to have someone taking care of him. "Alright, my turn. Legs."

Tim snorts loudly and Bart wants to agree with him because they both know that legs are actually the third thing Kon looks at when he sees someone attractive.

"Shut up," Kon grumbles, "it's not about what _I_ find attractive, alright? We’re talking about what it’s possible to be attracted to. Sexually."

"It's possible to be attracted to everything though," Bart puts in again because he's read a lot of books about sexuality, and he's talked to a lot of different people about it too. Everyone has different thoughts and feeling on it. "Don't you think it's kind of pointless trying to debate that?"

"It is," Tim reaches out and Bart meets him half way with the bowl so he doesn't have to slide onto the floor. He grins around the food he shoves in his mouth. "But we're not really discussing if it's possible or not. We're just beating around the bush until Kon eventually leads us to the particular thing he finds attractive, but is too weirded by to say out loud."

"So that way we can assure him it's totally normal and nothing to feel weird about at all," Bart nods solemnly and gets up to grab a few more sodas. They've got enough to last, but getting them now gives them time to settle before opening them. "Alright, let's continue! Is it my turn? I'll say noses then."

"I hate you both," Kon growls up at the ceiling, a bright and telling flush creeping up his neck. "So much. It's not funny."


	63. You thought you were Snapchating on your tablet, but were really just poking John Stamos' face on my Full House dvd case...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (207): You thought you were Snapchating on your tablet, but were really just poking John Stamos' face on my Full House dvd case...

"Yes, I have the full series and I'm not ashamed," Dick preemptively cuts off the potentially insulting remark. "It's a heart warming story of a non-conventional extended family and there are days when I really need that."

"Hey, I wasn't judging," Roy raises his hands up in surrender even though he is smirking. "I was just going to ask if I could borrow some of them. Lian lives the show. Fuck knows why."

"Because your daughter is smarter than you," Dick snorts before flipping out a few DVDs.

"You don't have to tell me that. Did I tell you about the math homework she brought home last week?"

"What, is she learning how to add?" Dick frowns trying to place what a kid her age should be learning. None of his siblings have a conventional history of schooling but he's pretty sure addition comes after counting in the school system. "More than what you can count with your hands and toes?"

"Ha ha, jackass," Roy flings the DVDs like frisbees towards the jacket still draped over a chair. They land neatly on the cushion in an orderly stack. "There were _letters_ in those problems. They're teaching her algebra! You know how embarrassing it is to have your kid teach _you_ what to do?"


	64. If I get arrested I'm counting on you to get a picture of it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a [blog](http://textsfromgxtham.tumblr.com/post/131893403810) on tumblr now mixing scans with the texts. It looks like it's going to be awesome. This chapter is inspired by their first post.

(201): If I get arrested I'm counting on you to get a picture of it

~

“You say that as if you doubt there will be pictures,” Tim shifts in his crouch as he carefully watches the things Jason is pulling out of the canvas bag he’s been carrying all night. He’s only seen one detonator so far, but that doesn’t mean much when it comes to Jason. “Oracle will have video from three different angles no matter where it is you get caught.”

Not to mention the dozens of cameras set to gather still pictures. Only some of which she will deign to share with them after the fact. Tim’s pretty sure no one has been able to find all of the eyes she has in the city no matter how much she might protest otherwise. It’s a comforting thought when things are really going down the hole.

“Pictures I can get without owing anyone favors, asshole,” Jason twirls a flare gun around as he looks up to grin. Sharp and utterly demented. “I want something big that I can justify putting in a frame.”

“Where?” Tim asks because it’s a justifiable question. Jason’s bolt holes get raided regularly enough he doesn’t keep anything personal there, and the apartments he has are only a little better. They don’t get raided as often, but Tim’s not even sure most of them have working locks.

Jason’s grin turns awful and Tim feels prickles of dread start to crawl up his spine. Not true. The dread had started the moment Jason said he had a plan, but to be fair Tim has Issues with those words and hadn’t paid them any mind. “Hood. No.”

“Hood, yes!” Jason slings a battered military case over one shoulder and stands. “Come on, Red, your place needs a little decoration. I’m just doing you a favor here.”

“By getting me a framed picture of you getting arrested?” Tim ask rhetorically. He doesn’t try to talk the man out of it though. Fighting will only make him more determined, and then Tim will start finding pictures everywhere. “Why don’t you just get me a copy of that Christmas card you sent Bruce last year while you’re at it. Nothing like a mugshot Christmas card to set the theme of the place.”  
Jason laughs as he jumps off the building to set up his plan, and Tim sighs to himself as he settles in. Both to watch the unfolding disaster, and to –hopefully– try to mitigate some of the damage.


	65. Do you think he crashed the car on purpose?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts, how about ‘Texts from Gotham’ and “Do you think he crashed the car on purpose?”

“Do I think that Tim, obsessive beyond the point of creepiness about that car, crashed it on purpose?” Dick asks to be sure he heard right.

Bruce looks at him steadily with no hint of a twitch to show he realizes how ridiculous his theory is. Tim’s still unconscious in the hospital and it’s not late enough for any of them to make a surprise visit in costume. They’ve got nothing but an imperfect video clip from a camera after the fact to base their assumptions on. Lacking any obvious evidence of outside influence it really shouldn’t surprise Dick that Bruce’s mind automatically went were it did.

“No, Bruce. I don’t think Tim crashed his car on purpose,” Dick can’t even be mad about it. Bruce being Bruce is why they get things done, and it’s everyone else’s job to balance that out. “I think it’s sleeting outside, the roads haven’t been salted, and the ‘witness’ was walking his dog in the street without a leash. It doesn’t matter how good any of us are at driving when there’s black ice and dogs involved.”

Tim will be pleased to know that the thought of it being an actual accident never crossed Bruce’s mind at least.


End file.
